Donkey Recount
I stand corrected: Bardibas apparently is more than a two donkey town, for
this afternoon I saw my two acquaintances with four friends--hobbled, yet
still able to kick up their heels in the middle of the road as if knowing
that today is yet another strike day of reduced traffic--bringing the town
total to six, or four more than the U.S. presidential race, provided
Kucinich is still hanging on.
I might as well be one of those donkeys when it comes to getting any sort of
reliable information about national/maoist/regional strikes: I haven't
seen a paper in days (and even that is mostly Kathmandu centric), and while
one person might assure me that all shops and businesses will be closed, I
am just as likely to receive the exact opposite reply from someone else. In
their defense, it is all a great guessing game as to the extent and
seriousness of the strike, and I have come to rely on no one's opinion but
my own: I hop on my bicycle and have a look around the market, collecting
whatever vegetables I can find--mostly okra and eggplant as of late--and
make do otherwise. I see if there are any buses on the roads, where they
are headed and if the small thatch hut that serves as a bus station for
Janakpur bound buses is occupied or not.
A trip to the PCO
There is one telephone in town at the Post and Communications Office (PCO),
which sounds rather official, but is essentially a private businessperson
with the funds sufficient enough to pay the hefty bribe needed to get a
phone line installed. I initially thought this was one line provided by
either the regional or national government until the phone system could be
restored, but I have since discovered that this is not the case at all.
Even the Christian minded United Mission hospital outside of town has a
phone line, which must have been from some divine intervention... Good
governance and transparency is part of every NGO agenda, but the
practicalities of accomplishing the most basic of tasks dictates otherwise.
The PCO consists of a desk with a phone on it; a PCO operator who dials and
receives all calls, and two rather smallish benches for people to wait on.
Privacy is not an option, as all calls are heard by everyone in the
officeˇXand even those outside since there is no doorˇXwith most people
hanging on to every word of complete strangers, as if listening to an
engrossing radio program. A telephone conversation in English brings added
glee and wonderment.
One of my colleagues went to place a call for me, asking the party I wanted
to speak with to call the PCO back after a number of minutes. I went to the
PCO and waited for my call to arrive, but seeing as the facility is mainly a
place for people to place calls--this is the only way they make money--and
there was a steady stream of one caller after another, I finally gave up
hope. The PCO is basically a place for outgoing calls; my colleague in
Kathamandu had attempted for two days to get a call through to me.
Chhang
Most rice producing and consuming nations produce some variation of a rice
wine or beer; here the rice brew is called chhang. In an attempt to reverse
the trend of my steady weight loss, some of my colleagues have suggested the
consumption of rice wine/beer during the hottest months. Not a bad idea, I
thought, since what little I had in Kathmandu I quite liked, and it is
similar to the alcohol rice drinks I loved during my time in Korea. This
morning I put two liters of boiled water in my bicycle basket and cycled
over to the chhang brewing farmhouse. Turns out, this was a small
permaculture farm in the making and a member of my organizationˇ¦s minor,
yet growing permaculture project and movement. The rice had already been
fermented when I arrived and was in a sort of paste form. The water was
poured over this and strained several times to remove some of the grit and
husks from the rice. It's a slightly sweet and milky looking drink, and I
was encouraged (made, without much twisting of the arm) to try a tall glass
(remember, this is about 7:00 AM and I have yet to have breakfast) for
taste. Compared to what I had in Kathmandu, however, this wasnˇ¦t a very
strong brew at all, which was probably for the best considering the time,
but I was told that if I wanted stronger mixes I could have that as well!
This is obviously a day for alcohol (it's a strike day of course). On my
way home from my morning chhang experience, not more than a hundred meters
from our home, a group of men were brewing up a big pot of raksi (a
gut-wrenching, clear, vodka-like drink) over an open campfire and readying a
goat for slaughter. I couldnˇ¦t bring myself to watch the slaughter, but
here's Migyoungˇ's account: the goat was first made to drink some water
while one other person put some water on the goatˇ¦s neckˇXas the goat
shakes its neck, it is apparently a sign that itˇ¦s ready for the deed. One
man steadied its hindquarters while the executioner made several feint
attempts at lopping off its head with a long curved blade until the goat was
calm enough and would hold still for a clean chop. One blow was all it took
to take the head off, while the others held on to the still twitching
goatˇ¦s body. The goatˇ¦s head was dipped in hot water for I know not what,
and the body was first skinned and scrapped before being disemboweled and
cut into portions. This isnˇ¦t a PETA caseˇXthere was no torture involved
nor hypocrisy, for not only do many people slaughter their own meat, they
consume and use the entire animal with very little if any waste.
Rain
Two nights ago we had an unexpected thunderstorm, which temporarily knocked down the dust and brought a relatively cool breeze. We slept more
comfortably than we have in over a month. But there is a yin and a yang to
everything, and so we have also noticed an explosion in the insect
population and increased humidity. At night, any light attracts a number of
flying, hopping, crawling, screeching, buzzing and sometimes biting insects.
Many, the likes of which, I have never seen in my life. There are monstrous
cockroaches, which we have thankfully only seen outdoors so far, a huge
spider the size of my fist that lives in a crack in the ceiling next to a
light socket, and other hard and soft shelled varieties of insects. So many
in fact, that our resident geckos canˇ¦t consume them fast enough. Whether
they are just too full to eat or overwhelmed at the sere numbers and not
knowing which ones and where to attack first, I wish they could do more than
just hang out on our walls
I normally prefer soymilk for drinking or with my bowl of ginger granola,
and seeing as I am more of a coffee rather than a tea drinker, I usually
have a splash of half and half in my morning, afternoon and evening brews.
I also have a lot of herbal teas in the evening, and every once in a while
will have a nice earl grey or black tea with milk (dudh).
The best ciyah (chai) in Nepal is made entirely with milk sans the
water:it's a rich, sweet, creamy brew that I have come to count on in
Nepal for my fix. One of the best, if not the best, places in Bardibas is
ramshackle ciyah hut of corrugated tin, rough hewn tree branches, smooth mud
floors and sleeping, sickly dogs which does a brisk trade at one of the two
Bardibas chowks or intersections. I've been told that itˇ¦s the fatty,
whole milk they use (water buffalo or cow?) although others claim itˇ¦s the
masala (a strong hint of black pepper and cardamom ) and the light dusting
of cinnamon on top. Ciyah shops sell the stuff piping hot in tiny
glasses;the technique is to use your index finger and thumb to hold the
glass right around the rim, but even that, especially in this weather,
sometimes leaves the fingertips scorched. The only problem I have found is
that the portions are so small that I am always left wanting more and
moreˇXperhaps that is the technique to get people to return? In Kathmandu,
it was sometimes possible to get a small pot of ciyah, and I have considered
taking my own larger mug to the ciyah shop here, but I would assume that
would throw the entire system into a state of disarray, and wild rumors
would circle around the town about how I am addicted to the stuff (it's
true!) or that that foreigners can somehow live only on ciyah, or simply the
fact that I brought my own vessel would provide countless hours of
entertainment. You only need to refer back to my story about how all of the
villagers knew when (and they were sure they knew why) I had diarrhea to
know that these kind of stories get started all of the timeˇK
So, in order to start making our own ciyah at home, Migyoung and I have been
shopping around for where we can purchase milk. Seems easy enough since
every family either owns a water buffalo, a cow or both. We were first
informed that it was possible to buy milk in a shop in town, but after
checking around we have yet to find a place that sells it. Then several
people told us that they would have the milkman--the dudh dude--to swing by our
house every morning for a delivery (they also normally sell yogurt, and we
wanted to get some of that as well to get our own culture going). This went
on for about a week or so, each day we informed our friends and neighbors
that no milk had been delivered, and each time we were promised that bholi
(tomorrow;a future weblog entry on the philosophy of bholi forthcoming) we
would have our milk. In the meantime, we have made due with the horrible
powdered version for our tea and equally awful Nescafe.
A few days ago, the dudh man magically appeared although I actually think he
was making a delivery to the house across the way and we just happened to
grab his attention. Ironically, when you want someone's attention, youˇ¦ll
never get it, and when you want to be left alone or have your own space it
will never happen. We asked if he would return the next day and were
emphatically told yes. That was the last time weˇ¦ve had our milk, but
promises of tomorrow or the day after tomorrow continue, as just about
everyone we know in townˇXadmittedly fewˇXis searching for how and where we
can get milk delivered to our home. One of my colleagues at work promised
to try and eek out a bit of milk each day from his water buffalo, but that
sheˇ¦s not really in the giving mood these daysˇK Iˇ¦m a little surprised it
hasnˇ¦t happened so far, since a lot of shopkeepers and independent
ˇ§businessmenˇ¨ see us as a rare bilking opportunity the likes they havenˇ¦t
witnessed since the last busload of Indian tourists blew through townˇK
Itˇ¦s all a little hard to fathom, actually. In this land of the sacred
cow, where the piles of water buffalo dung on the highway outnumbers
splotches of oil from vehicles and where milk is used as an offering to pour
over shivaˇ¦s lingam, we continue our, perhaps futile, search for dudhˇK
Postscript: Dudh Found
This morning at 7:00 AM I cycled down the bumpy dirt path south of the
market and business area to collect a half-liter for milk for our morning
tea courtesy of a work colleagueˇ¦s neighbor. In actuality, we were up at
5:00 this morningˇXwhen the sweating begins despite the swirling fan
overheadˇXand had already had our first cups of ciyah with powdered milk,
but the second pot with fatty milk was delightful. On the way back to our
house, with the milk clearly visible in my front handlebar basket, all the
villagers came out to observe as I passed by: Oh, he's got milk! He must
like milk or whatˇ's he going to do with that milk? Perhaps now that I've
been seen with milk, a thousand enterprising dudh men will be waiting at our
front gate every morning...
The deraa (flat/apartment):
It's a big, white, concrete monstrosity of a place that we call home these
days. We're on the second floor of two with the first floor serving as
guest quarters for Care-Nepal's operations in this area, which is mostly
watershed and forestry workˇXnot what you would normally associate with
CARE, or at least their marketing machine that we know in the west. Like
all concrete and brick buildings/homes in Nepal, ours too suffers from what
I have dubbed the birthday cake effect: homes are constructed in such a way
with the steel rods exposed and protruding out of the concrete/brick pillars
on the rooftop. I can only surmise that this is left this way for future
floor additions, but it sometimes seems, especially in larger towns, when
one looks out on the expanse of the city as if it is one large birthday cake
with candlesˇK
Our Bardibas estate has to be one of the most shabbily or hastily (or both)
constructed places I have witnessed: door latches donˇ¦t match their
eyeholes; leaky pipes in concrete walls create a sweating effect (and the
size of the wet spot grows dailyˇK); greasy handprints of workers still
grace the walls of our tiny bathroom sans basin, and having a ceiling fan
installed (essential) has thrown the entire wiring of the apartment into
disarray. Dim bulbs become dimmer, and frail lights that once worked now do
not. We have four wooden chairs on loan from my organization, a futon-like
bed on the floor with mosquito net (another essential) and a small wooden
table for preparing food in the kitchen. We have one old table on loan from
my organization in our bedroom/living room with an annoying and noisy
termite gnawing away night and day. We are waiting, or at least we think we
are, on another table to arrive although it has been so long ago I canˇ¦t
even really remember. That fact that one is told that something will be
ready today or tomorrow, however, is essentially a statement with no
meaningˇXyou will receive the same reply for a simple delivery, at work or
for something much more major, and some things are just simply forgotten.
We have also been informed with much confidence on the part of the locals
that there are no mosquitoes in BardibasˇXalthough the welts on Migyoungˇ¦s
body tell a different storyˇXso there is no need for screens on the windows.
This also defies logic since most people sleep with mosquito nets. They
havenˇ¦t been that bad so far, but there are a thousand other flying insects
that buzz around and crash into our wallsˇXthose hard shell dung beetles
being some of the fiercest. And Migyoung is having her own battles with the
army of ants that seem to keep marching right along, which despite their
size have a very fierce biteˇK
We do have one of those miniature fridges now, and we fill it full of
bottles of boiled waterˇXwith temps in the hundreds, it takes almost a full
day for the water to cool down sufficiently to put it into a containerˇXand
other things that we want to keep the ants and other insects away from. Our
other option is to solar disinfect water in plastic bottles on the rooftop
and then filter it. There is no sink in the place although we have been
promised one. In the kitchen there is a tap near the floor and a concrete
slab for doing the washing up; likewise, there is a tap in the bathroom.
Our water is supplied from a 500 liter tank on the rooftop, which is, in
turn, pumped upˇXfrom something akin to a go-cart motor which requires a
rock to be placed on top of the connecting plugs for it to workˇXfrom
another 500 liter tank in the yard. The so-called ˇ§government waterˇ¨ is
turned on at either 4, 5 or 6:00 in the morning and again at 12, 1 or 2:00
in the afternoon and is on for approximately an hour. All water must be
collected in the bottom tank before being pumped up to the roof. Itˇ¦s all
sort of a guessing game when the water will be supplied, but seeing as how I
havenˇ¦t been getting up at 4:00 in the morning (but Iˇ¦m usually awake by
5:00!!) to check the water, we can always count on a neighborˇXeveryone
around us is essentially from the same familyˇXto wander into our yard and
turn it on for us. [postscript to the water situation: our landlord is now
more interested in the construction of a home for yet another family member,
so our pump is sometimes here sometimes notˇK we are conserving and toting
accordingly] Of course, theyˇ¦ll also walk right in your door if itˇ¦s not
locked, but you take the good with the badˇK People are insatiably curious
about what we have in our house although it is essentially empty. Even when
we buy an item at a shop, curious onlookers love to pick it up and inspect
it, even if, as today, it is a simple package of instant noodles common
almost everywhere and to everyone.
We try to keep the gate to our yard closed to keep people and animals from
wandering in, not because we want to completely shut ourselves in, but
rather because it is the only thing that Nepalis tend to comprehend. But
because neighbors roam in and out all the time, it is usually open. If
youˇ¦re door isnˇ¦t locked it must be okay to come right on in, and if it
is, you must be doing something that you shouldnˇ¦t be. Walking into our
place unannounced is one issue; opening and handling things at their
pleasure is another, as is scooping up the cow dung from the path. Sacred
to them, perhaps, but not to us.
No locks are installed on the doors of offices and homes; instead you are
obliged to use padlocks. I am now the owner of more keysˇXyet fewer
itemsˇXthan I have ever had in my life: two keys for the two padlocks for
our home; two keys for the bicycle lock attached to the back wheel (you can
walk off with it, but you canˇ¦t ride it away); one padlock key for the
front door of the office; one padlock key for the door to the office which I
share with the President; one skeleton key for the cabinet in my office and
another for an inside compartment of the cabinet, and one key for the
padlock that we keep on our tin trunk in our room for storing valuablesˇXit
is sort of our bank, since there is no bank here. Padlocks come in all
sorts of shapes and sizes although most are something that you might be more
accustomed to finding in an antique or collectable shop, with a varying
array of skeleton keys like something out of a spaghetti western.
Thereˇ¦s a smallish papaya tree in the yard whose fruit seems to keep
falling off before it has a chance to ripen, one snake that Iˇ¦ve seen so
far, many of those big, hila monster like lizards that love to bask in the
sun and a small altar/shrine just inside the gate with a brittle looking
bush growing out of the top of it. Our house is set back 200-300 meters or
so from the road, and is accessed by a dirt path from two different
directions. We look out onto about 4 other housesˇXthey get lots of pleasure
out of watching our every move; we feel sort of like a movie screen these
daysˇXbut beyond that it is mostly fields of what I think will eventually be
rice paddies or perhaps fields of wheat or both depending on the season. It
is a nice, pastoral if not flat (and dusty) view to the south. It is women
that one sees mostly in the fields performing the lionˇ¦s share of the work.
There are some larger banyan trees out there for shade and relaxation and a
few other scattered palms and banana trees around our house, but it is
mostly parched fields that one sees. Breezy days bring a welcome respite
from the heat, yet leaves a film of dust on everything. A small shady grove
of closely planted trees just to the west of our abode is a popular
childrenˇ¦s play areaˇXgames of tag with the trees being the home bases.
The men may plough the fields with the bullock team, but it is the women
who hoe the fields, cut the grass and other fodder for the animals, tote
incredible weights on their headsˇXfirewood, water jugs, cow dung, 50-100
pound sacks of rice and seedˇXin addition to the never ending household
chores of cooking, cleaning, washing, etc. Men tend to do very little,
actually (especially here where there is are no forms of economic activity
for men performed in larger cities and towns), from what I can observe and
it is on the tremendous strength of women that the Terai survives. A
womanˇ¦s day starts early and ends late, and it is only during the most
unbearable hours of the day that I have seen women napping or resting in the
shade. This is essentially all I have seen men doˇK It is an incredibly
hard and short life, which becomes all too apparent upon observing the
hands, feet and faces of these villagers. Major causes of death stem from
illnesses and causes that we take for granted as minor issues: after
asthma/bronchitis and diarrhea/cholera, delivery and miscarriage is the
major cause of death among women. You breathe in the smoke from cooking
fires without adequate ventilation, you drink the water; your bear children
at too young an age or without even the services of a midwifeˇXthese are the
hazards of womanhood.
In this district, the female literacy rate is a paltry 18% with the national
average at around 44%. Male national literacy rate stands at around 65%.
These are the grim statistics that my organization must deal with, and
something that I am only beginning to understand a little bit better, or
perhaps understand on a more poignant level. Upon visiting one of my
organizationˇ¦s womenˇ¦s saving and credit groups in a smaller village
outside of Bardibas, and having an opportunity to ask these women what they
would like from the organization, the almost universal answer was access to
literacy classes. But I digress and will save this topic for a later date.
The electricity supply in this part of Nepal is sporadic at best. Anything
plugged into a socket requires the services of a voltage stabilizer and
surge protector:voltages fluctuate between 200 and 300 with constant spikes
being the rule and the not the exception. Some bulbs seem to be no better
than a candle. The power outages makes it incredibly difficult to get any
work done in an office, and already I have had to alter my work schedule
accordingly while waiting for the electricity to return. Most people laugh
and shrug this off as part of life in Nepal; however, it strikes me as
rather ironic coming from people in the development field--no development
project is easy here, even having in order the simplest tools to do the
development work
Our biggest dilemma at the moment is the heat. I loathe both the morning
and the night, but mostly the day. Temperatures over the past couple of
days have reached 109 Fahrenheit with a balmy 85 or so in the evening. If
there is a breeze, you must contend with the dust--a thick layer coats our
floor and everything else at the end of the day. We are both feeling
sluggish, lethargic and swollen. If we are lucky, there will only be
another 3 months or so of this heat, and if we are exceptionally fortunate,
the monsoons will arrive within a month or so and bring periodic respites
from the hot temperatures. I have never perspired so much in my life, not
even during my frequent travels and time spent in southeast Asia. Even the
simplest of motionsˇXeating; moving from one room to the nextˇXinstigates
the beads of sweat rolling down my body. I have noticeably lost weight,
which I hope is nothing more than a symptom of the heat. It is not so much
that we are not eating, but that the weather has wreaked havoc with our
appetite. We are both drinking water faster than we can purify itˇXthis
morning we were up at 5:00 in order to collect water from the tap and
prepare it for solar disinfecting on the rooftopˇXand I have an insatiable
thirst that I just cannot quench (in this situation, it may be both literal
and symbolic). Water then gets run through a filter, since even the tap
water has a lot of sediment, gets put back in water bottles and then into
the fridge. Hopefully the power will stay on long enough for it to cool
down. It is, frankly, quite difficult to sleep beyond 5:00 in the morning
because of the heat. We bathe before bed, yet wake up feeling sticky.
Mornings and later in the evenings are the best times for bathing, since the
water in the tank on the rooftop has cooled down or hasnˇ¦t had an
opportunity to heat up yet. By midday, it is scorching. This will
hopefully work out ideally in the winter months.
The nationwide strike over the past two days has left us without anything in
the markets. Whereas in Kathmandu it was possible to find some shops open
on strike daysˇXand certainly there were no real shortagesˇXhere it is as if
the village became a ghost town. We were able to scrounge up some green
tomatoes and bananas but not much else. I have only on occasion been able
to get a copy of one of the English newspapers here, but there is no
reliability as to when and if it will arrive. I can sometimes pick up the
BBC world service on my little short-wave radio, which has essentially been
our lifeline to the outside world.
Strikes are scheduled in our neighboring district (where Janakpur and my
email lifeline is located) for the next ten days, so this may be rather old
news by the time I get it out to you. Even our plans to try and communicate
with the outside world on a weekly basis have been set back
Please address your deraa questions this way--there's a lot more to tell
As of late, I’ve been pondering quite a bit about Nepalese notions of jutho or “polluted.” Jutho most commonly refers to food or drink that has been contaminated by another’s touch, but also extends to concepts of that most demeaning of words, untouchability, with regards to people. Food that has been touched by someone—even just touching one’s plate—is considered polluted and will be discarded rather than taken by another person. People of Brahmin caste cannot eat food that has been prepared by lower caste individuals and, of course, the left hand is a no-no (that one I have to agree with as I do my own business with my left hand…). The one exception to this food rule is between husband and wife, which is of great relief for Migyoung and myself as we love to share our dishes and beverages. People of higher castes who strictly adhere to these notions of jutho must take a ritual bath to purify themselves if they touch someone of a lower caste…
While rules regarding “juthoed” food seem to be followed closely by just about everyone, it is virtually impossible in the bustle and diversity of ethnic groups in today’s Nepal not to come into contact with all different castes of people while in a crowded market, city street or bus, anywhere. Our local bus to Janakpur is a case in point: it is normally packed with every caste and creed imaginable from poor and devout women of an obviously lower caste—speaking something other than Nepali, to crowds of familes visiting friends and relatives down the way at the leper hospital…
What is even more interesting to me regarding jutho is that it does not seem to extend to one’s immediate surroundings or the natural environment. One may not be allowed to touch the plate of another individual, yet shit flows freely through streams and waterways and litter and garbage of all sorts is discarded indiscriminately. Pollution, in western senses of the word, are completely different. While concepts of cleanliness and hygiene may indeed be culturally laden, Nepalis are more sweepers than scrubbers; dousers rather than bathers. While this is not meant as a diatribe regarding cleanliness and sanitation in Nepal, I do find it odd that a culture with such defined rules of pollution on a very personal basis does not see the benefits—nor seems to be bothered about—of extending concepts and ideas of pollution (and with it responsibility) to the public arena. That is perhaps easier said than done in a country where over 50% of the population are illiterate, have received no formal education, and the nonbiodegradable paraphernalia of globalization has been thrust upon them as a convenience. Nor does the government seem interested in taking an active role or bankrolling anything other than lip service to public awareness campaigns. On the positive side of this, one does see attempts on the part of many NGOs—both domestic and international—to advocate on behalf of public health, hygiene and sanitation programs. It is part of a wider and more holistic movement which focuses on women, dalits and other marginalized groups—the traditionally “juthoed” groups cast aside (no pun intended) by this society. Indeed, in a culture and society that places such emphasis on motherhood, child birth and rearing, menstruating women are also considered jutho and not allowed in the kitchen, and in more draconian forms, are made to sleep outside of the house in something akin to a animal shed. Thankfully, I have not seen this in practice nor do I believe it is widespread.
Our overnight trip to Janakpur has uplifted and depressed me at the same time.
The tale of two cities.
Invigoration: Janakpur is a city of great color, character and festivity. It has the bustle of Kathmandu, but not overwhelmingly so-fewer motorized vehicles means less noise and better air quality. The heat and somewhat Indian flavor of the city is epitomized by the bright color of women’s saris-red, yellow and orange being the most common-the availability of food from south of the Nepalese border, the blasting of mostly Hindi music on the streets and the rainbow-colored rickshaws, which almost seem to outnumber people. Janakpur is a city right out of the history books: it is the birthplace of Sita and where she wed Rama (of Ramayana fame), and the Janaki temple, which dominates the market area, is a major pilgrimage site for Hindus. Tika-laden cows and sadhus mingle peacefully (mostly-I saw one cow chasing a sadhu) in the Janaki temple square and devotional music emanates from the main shrine. I am very fond of Janakpur’s atmosphere and ambiance despite the bone-jarring hour long bus-seemingly held together with duct tape and wire-ride from Bardibas…
Return to reality: I am back in Bardibas facing another week of dhal bhat only menus and house/dwelling hunting, which has essentially been reduced to one possibility… we walk through town (10 minutes) to the same drop-jawed expressions, and then plan for what to do with the rest of our day. I think what most ex-pats wish for from time to time is invisibility-the opportunity to blend in or get lost in the crowd if for no other reason because we quickly realize that this is an impossibility. But perhaps I am too callous with regards to Bardibas. It is, indeed, more peaceful than a place like Kathmandu and Janakpur minus its menacing highway, of course, and to meander down some of its dirt paths set back from the mess that was essentially built along the road, is to step back into the simple, quaint-if not unadorned-village life in Nepal. I also realize that it is something I am preoccupied with at the moment since I have yet to delve into my work with full force. There have been some self-led orientations around the office, but nothing too substantial yet. That has been a sort of sore spot since we have basically been left to our own designs until some of the staff return to town. Promises of being introduced to the community and learning in more depth about the inner workings of the organization are the first victims in what promises to be many bouts of miscommunication…
Things should begin looking up soon with the return of my organization’s personnel tomorrow and, hopefully, their assistance in helping us negotiate for a place to live… Our greatest fear at the moment is that the one place we have found that is livable (and available) will somehow be unattainable in the end. I literally have no idea what we will do next… It’s nothing new in this part of the world that prices magically double for foreigners no matter how much you plead-in Nepali even-that your allowance is for basic survival only. In their defense, however, the funds of the average volunteer is well beyond what most Nepalis will ever earn, but it is no less frustrating trying to bring this point across. It is also a sort of gamesmanship that Nepalis themselves engage in-bus and rickshaw fares, vegetables in the market, kitchen utensils and clothing, there is essentially no such thing as a fixed price and no limits to bargaining. While we certainly have no desire to live in luxury here, working in the development sector by no means that one has to live like his/her beneficiaries in order to empathize or do one’s work well.
Another day. I have actually never seen Bardibas lovelier than during this afternoon’s downpour. Granted, mud flowed into the streets, wind kicked up the litter and puddles quickly formed everywhere, but it was as if the rain thumped some life into the listless town: people scrambled for shelter, crowds gathered under the corrugated tin roofs of tea shops, conversations were struck up freely, even the ubiquitous street cows were prodded into a gallop for the nearby natural awning of a banyan tree and its stone dais known as a chautara-a place for porters to rest their load. We also scuttled into a nearby milk sweets and samosa shop (ok, I’ve been holding out; we can also get samosa…) with its smooth mud floors and interesting array of rainbow-colored religious iconography posters: there’s a Ganesh, Shiva, Saraswati, Hanuman the monkey king and, interestingly, a multi-colored depiction of the crucifixion of Christ as if revealed in Ken Kesey’s The Electric Kool-Aid Acid Test… Jesus on the ultimate trip…
In the morning and evening we head for Bardibas’ Gautam guesthouse-self-described as five star-for our early and late versions of dhal bhat. They’ve become quite accustomed to us now after 10 days and we don’t tend to attract the same crowds as we did in the beginning. Nevertheless, we never have to eat alone-there’s no choice in this, really-for someone will always join us if for nothing else just to watch us eat. This is a fairly common occurrence in most places in Nepal, but a real treat (or catastrophe) for Bardibites since foreigners are a rare site other than those silhouettes gleaned through the tinted glass windows of a UN or International Red Cross land cruiser. The folks at Gautam are actually very sweet and friendly, and we’ve just about at this point learned the names of all the extended family members and everyone else who works there. Babies are brought out for us to ogle over, and they marvel and crow about our ability to eat with our hand. Tonight one of the little girls at the restaurant, who has up to this point been rather shy-decided to urinate right at the entrance of the restaurant dribbling over the imbedded bottle caps in the cement which spell out “wel-come.” Welcome, indeed.
By all indications, Bardibas is made up of a variety of ethnic groups and castes, some Indians as well, and we are thankful that Nepali is the language/dialect of choice. Janakpur, on the other hand, with its huge Mithili (ethnic group) and Indian populations, is obviously a place where Nepali is not the only language spoken, and when it is, it was quite difficult for us to understand. With a little patience and repetition, we can survive in Bardibas with our limited and halting Nepali. Probably so in Janakpur as well although comprehension at times required a few more responses of, “once more, please.”
I have had a few meetings now with my organization’s staff and today sat through my first-and very long-staff meeting. This really tested my Nepali ability, but obviously, most of it just flew by me… I did have some translation help through most of the meeting, but it was really most interesting for me just to see the process of meetings in Nepal. I will fill in more of these details in my next addition as well as some of the details of our flat/apartment, which we have just moved into.