People Power Wins!

Today was truly an amazing day to be in Nepal although it was only late yesterday evening that everyone was pointing to today as the ultimate showdown between the people and the palace. Yesterday was actually a rather light day for demonstrations (2 million were apparently resting up for today’s onslaught) and with a reduced curfew of 11:00 am to 6:00 pm, I headed off to the office on my bicycle (with a packet of noodles and milk for the chai). During lunch, I watched from the window as security personnel circled around the Gahana Pokhari (sacred pond) around and around again (apparently one of them was learning how to drive?) and cows took over the nice grassy area around the pond to chow down without interference.

Not knowing what tomorrow would bring and desperately wanting to get out of the house, we met a few local friends and decided to track down a restaurant that would open. Shops were abuzz with people stocking on items--a rather familiar sight over the past 20 days during breaks in curfew, and bicycle rickshaws (a renewed trade in Kathmandu!) did brisk business shuttling goods and people up and down the streets. We witnessed truckload after truckload of security forces and army being shuttled in the direction of the ring road for the planned confrontation. A light rain fell and the streets became deserted with the exception of the ubiquitous street dogs digging through goldmines of 20 days worth of uncollected rubbish lining the streets... We received word that the curfew was on for Tuesday from 1:00 am to 9:00 pm, so rather than go home we popped into a pub still open (run by jazz loving kathmanduites!).

We watched a bit of BBC news and soon got word that King Gyanendra would deliver a national address at 11:30 pm (in itself very odd considering that most of Kathmandu is in bed by 10:00 pm). I must admit that I was rather surprised when HM announced that he was reinstating parliament on Friday rather than calling for martial law/state of emergency, which was pretty much everyone’s guess. On the short walk home, we could hear large crowds in the distance cheering wildly and just as we had reached our home someone on the street gave us the nicest “namaste” and then said in English, “tomorrow there will be peace.” He was right; we woke up to no curfew and the day’s protest marches were retooled as people’s victory marches. Smiles were contagious. People shook hands and chatted freely with security forces. By noon, it was announced that Koirala (the last real PM back in 2002) would be the reinstated prime minister.

Although the mood was overwhelmingly celebratory, some commented that HM hadn?t gone far enough by not publicly stating that he would assume a ceremonial role (that he still might linger in the background). He did, however, in his address, apologize for the loss of life and injuries sustained during the past few weeks, which is something that I have never known him to do. There is also the not-so-small matter of the Maoists, who
immediately released a statement saying that the political parties had broken one of the key components of their agreement by not calling immediately for constituent elections/assembly, although the political parties clarified their statement later in the afternoon that, of course, constituent elections were on their agenda as were renewed talks with the Maoists. The Maoists have faintly threatened more blockades, but I think it is mostly a case of just more blather from them and having the political parties steal a little bit of their thunder. Or at least I hope that’s the situation.

Mostly, I am pleased for the people of Nepal who have needed this small victory for a very long time. The political parties have squandered numerous opportunities in the time I have been here and they certainly have a lot to do to win back the people’s full trust and confidence. This will be the fourth go at PM for Koirala although the time has never been better for a renewed ceasefire and peace negotiations with the Maoists. It is my hope that they will let the Maoists stand for elections (provided they lay down their arms) like everyone else. They’ll most likely win a few seats and then see if they can put some of their rhetoric into actual governance...

the children's smiles above expresses a lot of my own joy regarding modest development successes in 2005. i've been away from the blog--both technical glitches and just being extremely busy--for some time now, but if i am able to find the time, i will attempt to post some of my musings in the upcoming year. that is, for anyone who cares to know and if the situation here remains stable...

peace in the new year!

The British Foreign Office has suspended 1 million in aid for police and security forces; Condi and the US are still pushing for the Indian government to take the lead in restoring multi-party democracy to Nepal (something the Nepalis really do not like!) and the US Ambassador to Nepal has been having meetings this week with several recently released party leaders—including the deposed prime minister—about which King Gyanendra appointed Vice Chairman of the Council of Ministers complained, and I quote: “why am I never invited to these dinner parties.”

Reports from the districts are trickling in. Disgruntled villagers in hard hit areas have been forming their own vigilante groups—armed with sticks and stones—and have been seeking their own revenge on Maoist groups that have terrorized their villages. The palace is apparently and tacitly supporting and encouraging these groups. Caught in the middle are villagers that are forced to attend Maoist “meetings” only to be threatened, and in some cases beaten up, by these vigilante groups and security forces… And at the same time, King Gyanendra still refuses to bring the Maoists to the negotiating table.

A culture of frustration and violence permeates the country—a sad development given the historically peaceful nature of Nepal. In Kathmandu, we live in a bubble, rarely affected to the extent of people in the districts with the exception of fluctuation in prices, shortages of some commodities and difficulties in transportation, but these sort of difficulties pale in comparison to threats on one’s live and survival. What nature of atonement awaits Nepal?

In this general milieu, it is difficult to think about and prepare new development projects or even continue with the implementation of ongoing ones. Aasaman, I believe, is doing its best with current projects in the field, which is testament to the hard work and neutrality of our social mobilizers and child rights protectors in the field—they make themselves known to Maoists and security forces alike and focus on the beneficiaries. Still, our discussions on starting up projects in new districts/areas are tricky at this point given both the situation in the country and the wait-and-see approach of many donor agencies…

Yet, I continue to do what I can. I have scheduled a 3-day organizational assessment at the end of April (to be held in the south of the country, even) that will bring together 16 staff members, at least 12 beneficiaries and will include my own interviews with our donors and staff. The output of this assessment will hopefully help us produce a document that will steer the organization’s internal development in the coming years.

Some of the familiar methods of awareness-raising and advocacy among civil society organizations working for the upliftment of dalits and eradicating social discrimination in Nepal is to perform street dramas, participate in mass rallies and hold something called common meals where men and women of all castes can sit down with one another, converse freely and enjoy a meal together. The common meal is aimed at breaking down notions of untouchability and jutho (impurity) still prevalent among many Hindus in Nepal. These norms are particularly conservative with regards to food—in the countryside it is common that dalits are refused entry to teahouses (or are made to bring their own cup) and restaurants.

While the efficacy and impact of such events is questionable and not well documented, I have personally witnessed groups of dalit women marching through the streets of their villages to the Hindu temple demanding entry brought to tears once they step foot inside and are allowed to worship, and have observed groups of dalits and higher castes partaking of meals together in remote regions while sitting on the ground cross-legged and taking their food from simple, disposable plates fashioned out of leaves. Questions of impact and efficacy aside, these simple measures—and demanding of rights—seemed to have had a profound bearing on the lower caste participants themselves.

Out of curiosity, tonight I attended a common meal event in Kathmandu hosted by a large Nepalese NGO working in dalit rights and advocacy held at the Birendra International Convention Center (the only venue of its kind in Nepal) and attended by newly appointed ministers in His Majesty’s government—not the most common of venues nor guest lists. The event included a long list of speakers touting what should be done to uplift the condition of dalits in Nepal and declarations to do so at all costs. Upon the completion of speeches and kudos as the crowd moved outside for the meal portion of the event, myself and a small group of foreigners who work with Nepali NGOs were approached by a group of dalit students who opposed the night’s proceedings (conspicuously absent from the night’s events were some of the bigger INGOs themselves even the INGO whose funds sponsored the event!). The dalit student group passed out leaflets outlining their opposition to the event: a waste of funds that could be used in dalit communities themselves; the absence of any dalit speakers who could attest to the real and abysmal conditions of dalit communities; no real agenda/concrete action plan put forward as to how the civil society organizations would uplift the condition of dalit communities and uphold laws against “untouchability;” an attempt by the NGO/civil society community to “pat themselves on the back” by holding such an event.

In general, I sympathized with the dalit students because of my own background in more radical approaches to human rights and couldn’t have agreed with them more, discerning that the event mainly served as a means of highlighting what one NGO was doing to uplift the condition of dalits (with little details of their successes or failures) heavy on rhetoric of how more efforts should be put into dalit rights-based approaches with no concrete action plan put forward. Inviting recently appointed ministers in light of current curtailed human rights and abuses in some sense smacked of hypocrisy and served as a slap in the face of activists and dalit and other marginalized communities themselves. At the same time, however, awareness-raising and advocacy activities, I believe, must reach all levels of society from the bottom to the top for real change to occur and must seek to implement an integrated approach that uniformly impacts all castes and strata of society. While dalit and other marginalized communities are willing and eager to take measures to uplift their own condition, awareness raising efforts must also include components which reach out to all castes, particularly in an effort to demonstrate how caste discrimination has a harmful affect on the overall development of Nepal. Certainly, equality and adherence to basic human rights needs no justification; however, a collaborative, inter-caste approach is the best means towards abolishing the scourge of untouchability and caste-based discrimination. Open dialogue amongst all castes and social change activists from both lower and upper caste communities will go a long way towards promoting and facilitating equitable, sustainable and positive changes in the human condition. It could also be argued that the dalit student group themselves failed to forward their own plans and solutions; instead opting to focus on the shortcomings of the event. Could it not be maintained, then, that the student group is equally complicit in not addressing the real needs of dalit communities? Is there not a means by which all forces can join hands in the fight to eradicate social discrimination?

Without knowing the particulars of how much money when into organizing and holding the common meal program, it would be hard for me to criticize the event as a waste of funding. If the event amounted to only a small fraction of funding, then it could be argued that it was held as a means of sharing lessons learned and best practices and the floor could have been opened for a question and answer session. As the afternoon transpired, however, it became painfully apparent that none of that was on the agenda, and the event served very little purpose. As far as the meal itself, people mingled a bit on the soggy grounds outside the convention center as they ate their meal, but not much else happened… Perhaps a few people were moved by the speeches and vowed to either take up or continue the fight for dalit rights and ending all caste-based discrimination, but in the end, dalits themselves remain mostly far off in remote villages and in congested zones of poverty and inequality.

All dalit-focused projects should be designed and implemented bearing in mind that interventions are short-term whereas the development process is continuous. All efforts, therefore, should incorporate a strategy that both enables participants to maintain and continue a project as long as it is needed and to manage a development process that will lead to other community-initiated development efforts. All dalit upliftment efforts should be constant with this principle. All efforts must include an integrated basis of awareness raising and training to increase local understanding of dalit and lower caste rights and the harmful anti-development effects of caste discrimination and to reduce instances of discriminatory behavior; thereby, enabling greater access to the public sphere, educational and economic opportunities for dalit and other marginalized communities by working directly with community-based associations and allied groups from all walks of life. These are inherently sustainable actions and worthy of funding and support. Someday, hopefully sooner rather than later, the common meal will become just that—common.

The world’s sadhus are in town—stoking up their hash pipes and their willy sticks at the ready along with other yogic props that come with being a devotee of Shiva—for the upcoming Shivaratri or night of Shiva. They’re a gnarly bunch with their trisuli (think Poseidon’s pitchfork), alms bucket and matted dreadlocks—sometimes curled on top of their heads in a beehive and sometimes hanging freely down their backs. They’re certainly a happy—ah, meditative that is—lot perched as they are on the side of the hill overlooking the Pashupati temple, pilgrims bathing in the holy river and burning cremation ghats. One would have to be in a pretty mellow state with so much death and celebration and devotion happening simultaneously… Of course, Kathmandu has its decent share of all year fair weather sadhus wandering about town eager to slap a tika on your forehead, and will do so without asking, or to have their picture taken for a price. They’re easy to spot with the freshly laundered saffron robes, but there’s nothing quite like the real show on Shiva’s night.

Last year, Shivaratri occurred just after I had arrived in country and I waded through the temple complex on the actual night. This year I made the trip a few days earlier with friends of mine visiting from out of town to avoid the overwhelming crowds that pack into the area on the night of Shiva. There were sadhus sprawled out pretty much everywhere: some napping under shady trees, some stoking their campfires on the hillside overlooking the cremation ghats and others holding court in front of the hundreds of many shiva temples that dot the top of the ridge. There was even one sadhu suckling a baby monkey—obviously taking Shiva’s incarnation of Pashupati (protector of the beasts) to heart. The monkey would retrieve his alms, give a good once going over and then drop it into a small tin bucket. It’s quite the spectacle for Nepali visitors as much for foreigners although Nepalis are doubly interested to see the sadhus and, as a bonus, how foreigners deal with the sadhus.

Shivaratri is also the one day of the year that children all over Nepal are allowed to extort as much money as possible from passersby on the street. Groups of children string a rope across roads and won’t allow pedestrians, bicycles, motorcycles and in some instances vehicles to pass without extracting some money in return. It’s all quite good-natured in the morning even though groups of ten kids at each blockage can quickly add up after a while… One needs a lot of small coins and bills handy to get anywhere. This year, I bought a small bag of sweets—opting instead to rot children’s teeth some might argue—to pass out in lieu of cash. This went well in the morning, but by afternoon it tends to be the older kids demanding money, and it can take quite a bit of negotiation to pass through. Of course, many Nepali adults are doing the same thing, but it’s a lot more interesting for them to watch me deal with it.

Shivaratri is supposed to be the night of bonfires as well, so there is plenty of smoke wafting through our neighborhood this evening. In some parts of Nepal, people make their own fireworks by lighting stalks of sugarcane, slapping them down hard on the ground and then watching the sparks fly—a kind of organic sparkler.

Happy Shivaratri!

It has been just over one year since I first arrived in Nepal to take up the task of working as a management advisor for a small, indigenous Nepali NGO. Before embarking on my trip, I was encouraged—thorough talks with Nepali experts, and recent studies—that the Maoist insurgency that had racked the country for eight years was in its dying days and was confined to some of the more remote areas of the far western reaches of the Kingdom. The realities on the ground, however, were something quite different—almost immediately I learned that Maoist (and often agitating political parties, as well) called strikes, demonstrations and blockades effected life throughout the country, albeit, on a limited scale in the Kathmandu Valley, and were an almost daily occurrence.

My first assignment was with a small NGO working for the upliftment of dalit (the so-called untouchables) women in the southern Gangetic plain of Nepal, referred to as the Terai. My home then, Mahottari district, posts some of the lowest social and economic indicators in the country. Among dalit women, literacy rates are in the single digits or very low teens; dalit and other marginalized communities live separately in simple villages of the most basic adobe huts typically with no water or sanitation facilities. Dalit and other lower castes are denied almost total access to the public sphere—restaurants, tea houses, Hindu temples—and are forced to perform (and are often punished if they do not) the most menial of tasks: removing dead animal carcasses from towns; cleaning human excreta. In these areas, although the Maoist insurgents enjoyed some support due to their rhetoric of equality and development for all, strikes and blockades brought life to a virtual standstill. The wholesale abduction of schoolteachers for “re-education” was common, and Maoists and security forces alike reeked havoc on villages—raping, looting and generally threatening families caught in the crossfire to the point of numbness and indifference. Maoists killed villagers accused of complicity with the government; security forces killed villagers accused of sympathy towards the Maoists. Village Development Committee (locally elected bodies) offices were boarded up and secretaries resigned en masse.

During my first year, all attempts at renewing a cease-fire and instigating peace talks failed. Moreover, efforts to bring in the UN as a mediator in the conflict were rejected and debunked despite the dearth of indigenous solutions to the gridlock. The Royal Palace reinstated the disposed Prime Minister with the agenda of bringing about a cease-fire or calling elections if the Maoists refused to join the process. Mass demonstrations, rallies, blockades, strikes and mass killings and abductions, however, continued unabated. The horrific murder of 12 Nepali hostages in Iraq brought more grief and sorrow to this remote Kingdom, with, of course, more demonstrations and rallies that followed. The collective psyche of this Himalayan Kingdom remains battered and fractured.

When the King assumed control of the government on February 1, placed political party leaders under house arrest, enacted a state of emergency and promised to restore peace to the country, you could almost forgive the majority of downtrodden Nepalis for their initial euphoria—many Nepalese were willing to pay almost any price for peace.

Now two weeks into the state of emergency, life in the Kathmandu Valley continues mostly unaffected. More security forces patrol the streets of the capital these days, but the King has taken some minor measures to placate the masses: the price of cooking gas has come down and a beautification campaign in Kathmandu has commenced. For those of us engaged in human rights and development work in Nepal, however, these are trying and troubling times. Most political party leaders remain under house arrest, censorship of the domestic press is absolute and decrees banning public gatherings remain intact. Outside of the Valley, however, life has ground to a halt. A Maoist imposed indefinite blockade and strike has stymied public transportation and movement and despite the “reopening” of some VDC offices, most people remain close to home due to fear for their own life and safety. In some areas, security forces are as much maligned as Maoists insurgents. Caught in the crossfire for almost a decade, many do not know whom to trust.

Most western missions—and India—in Nepal have issued statements appealing for the reinstitution of multi-party democracy, the release of party leaders and human rights activists and the reinstatement of the most basic human rights. Indeed, as I write, many ambassadors are in their home country for consultations about how to proceed. For its own part, the US has issued a 100-day ultimatum for the restoration of multi-party democracy or risk losing all military and other forms of aid. International NGOs, too, seem shell-shocked as they contemplate their next move. Only reputable organizations like Amnesty and Human Rights International have issued statements—without a carrot or stick to dangle in front of the palace—demanding the immediate release of human rights activists and the restoration of basic human rights. The Association of International NGOs (AIN) in Nepal remains sharply divided between those that support a rights-based approach—how can we not speak out—and those favoring a more neutral stance.

As one of the poorest countries in the world, the recent coup staged by the King does not have any real tangible effect on the majority of Nepalis. Indeed, it is common knowledge that the government, in whatever form, only controls the Kathmandu Valley with Maoist de-facto administrations holding sway over wide swathes of the remote countryside. That much has not changed. For development aid and organizations, however, the task has become that much more difficult. It’s a sad irony that much of the development aid in Nepal takes a rights-based as opposed to needs-based approach to development focusing on sustainability through the good governance measures of accountability, transparency and empowerment. The palace takeover will only damage and set back many of the efforts, achievements and impact that have been made over the past decade(s).

My own work currently focuses on the eradication of child labor in Nepal with my organization implementing programs in the hard hit and impoverished southern part of the country. In this area, Maoists are known to “recruit” children into their corps while, at the same time, the local government refuses to enforce and earmark the necessary resources for education for all measures—with many of the poorest areas lacking even the most basic infrastructure. A dalit rights EU project that I helped design, for example, which called for dalit group formation and public forums demanding their rights, could now be threatened and disbanded as a danger to public security under the auspices of the current state of emergency. Remote villagers that demand education facilities and teachers for their children could be jailed under the current draconian measures to squelch public gatherings.

While Maoist atrocities over the past eight years are deplorable and to be condemned, His Majesty’s—and here we also include the Royal Nepalese Army—total control over the country will only continue to jeopardize the people who have been victims of the conflict all along—the majority of Nepalese that crowd a congested zone of poverty and underdevelopment. Transcending the current milieu of violence and conflict—through the immediate resumption of multi-party democracy (with all of its flaws) and the realization of a cease-fire and peace talks (with the assistance of the UN if necessary)—is the only viable means of bringing about a lasting peace and stability to Nepal.

This is the weekend that I thought of many of you, dear readers, writers, poets, artists and the general learned bunch that you are. Yesterday was Shripanchami or the Goddess Saraswati festival—the venerable goddess of learning and the arts & letters: she rides a swan and plays the sitar. And we have the good fortune of living in the area of the Blue Saraswati temple—on Stupa alley just off of Blue Saraswati street, in fact—so our neighborhood was buzzing with lots of activity: a fresh coat of paint for the temple; the clanging of bells inside the compound; balloon and pushcart ice cream vendors set up under the big peepal tree; the smell and smoke of incense wafting down the narrow lanes. The temple walls were covered with chalk drawings, graffiti and characters of the Nepali script—Shripanchami is a particularly auspicious day to take your son or daughter to the temple to etch their first Nepali alphabet character on the temple wall, many with the help of their parents. Shripanchmi is also supposed to warrant the arrival of spring, and if the last couple of days are any indication then it will be a very nice one.

In good saraswati fashion, I went to Didi (older sister) Bahini (younger sister) day at the organization of the same name. There were the usual speeches and accolades for supporters of the organization and a street drama by the youth group (the drama is one of the most used advocacy tools among NGOs in Nepal)—a usual production of an overachieving daughter being urged by her parents to give up dreams of higher education and anything other than finding a good husband. The father, of course, favors the lackluster son and when the daughter appeals to the sensibilities of her mother, she is normally told by her mother that there’s nothing she can do. Only when tragedy befalls the son do the epiphanies of everyone come to the forefront. The street dramas are particularly fun to watch for the reactions of other spectators, who normally hang on every word. Nepal is a country that traditionally acted out day(s) long versions of the Ramayana or Maharabarta or other religious epics.

At night I took advantage of a VSO invitation to the British Ambassador’s residence (no, I don’t normally get invitations to such events, but this was for a merger between VSO and another British professional sending organization) for a reception. I’ve been once before, and the gluttonous array of drinks and finger foods is hard to pass up. One needs not miss a beat from one gin and tonic to another… He’s a nice enough bloke—the British Ambassador with whom I share the same first five letters of a surname—but he remained tight-lipped about the political situation, opting instead to profess his wife’s commitment to the dalits of Nepal. Apparently the pool used to be available to vsoers on the weekends until some unfortunate skinny-dipping incidents….

The indefinite maoist bandh has begun, but there are, as of yet, no indications of that in Kathmandu. Outside of the Valley, however, traffic and life has come to a halt. Some traffic is coming into the Valley via armed security forces escort and apparently there are security forces every 2 kilometers or so outside of KTM. The US Ambassador laid out his 100-day ultimatum on Friday afternoon: restore some semblance of multi-party democracy or risk losing all earmarked aid. I imagine this is mostly lip service for now, since the last thing anyone wants is for the Maoists to be able to swing the political parties over to their side and start an all-out civil war. The Indian and British governments have been making similar rumblings and the INGO community is still mulling over its next steps. Both Amnesty International and Human Rights Watch Intl have weighed in with public press releases, the former calling for the release of the head of Nepal’s most activate human rights organization with the unfortunate acronym HURPES. He’s considered Nepal’s foremost human rights activist. Slowly, the palace has been releasing some backbenchers and lower level party wonks and there are hints that the former prime minister will be released in the coming days, but so much is rumor and the newspapers are still nothing more than kindling.

Today as I brainstormed ideas for a early childhood marriage eradication program linked with out overall child labor abolishment projects (particularly as a means of getting more girls, especially dalit girls, to remain in school not to mention just upholding their rights) we spotted a story in the papers of a 65-year old man marrying a 9-year old girl in the southern part of the country. Yes, it’s illegal (and also very uncommon between the very old and very young), but it also indicates the kind of social norms and traditional customs that we are up against.

Other than the Guardian (and a few things from the BBC World Service) a good source of news not found in the papers here is available via the International Nepal Solidarity Network at: http://insn.org

It’s been a rather dark week of gray skies and intermittent rain; however, when
the skies have cleared, we’ve been afforded spectacular views of the vast
Himalayan ranges—quite a treat this time of year. My office, however, is
something of a meat locker, as many if not most of Nepali offices tend to be,
so I have taken to keeping a hot water bottle on my lap to keep my hands
warm—that, and many, many cups of chai. It’s not as if we experience blizzards
here in the KTM valley, but due to the lack of heated buildings—there aren’t
any—it’s hard to shake the chill in one’s bones. As I cycle to work in the
mornings, I see group after group of women standing in some sunny spot, woolen
shawls wrapped around their bodies revealing only their eyes, warming
themselves—everyone, seemingly, outside of their brick and concrete dwellings.
The normally active street dogs curl up wherever the sun shines—a pile of
gravel, a heap of rubbish—normally in the vacant lot cum building supply
storage area opposite our house. Cows, not much bothered, still try to figure
out the potentiality of consuming pink plastic bags…

I ventured to the immigration office yesterday as the one-year anniversary of
our arrival in country quickly approaches. As my official visa appears to have
found a permanent home on the desk of some bureaucrat in the ministry of social
welfare, women and children, I am forced to get a temporary tourist visa until
the official one is approved (renewed), and this process requires that the
immigration officer personally have a look at my passport. It’s all a bit of a
drama, really: I need some sort of valid visa in my passport in order to get an
extension on my official visa, yet even though it is in the process of being
renewed, that does not count, and seeing as how the tourist and official visa
bureaucrats don’t communicate very well, I am compelled to say that my work has
finished and I only need a visa to do a bit of sightseeing… There, with a motley
crew of buffed out trekkers and new age seekers, I wait my turn in the queue.
Meanwhile, the immigration officer—whose approval I need—stands outside with a
group of friends or colleagues picking his nose (side note: the pick is
normally an auspicious sign—at the Indian Embassy, the consulate officer while
approving my visa with the all important red pen, picked his nose with the left
hand while flicking the bounty nonchalantly into the air. The pick is a good
sign) and holding hands with his colleagues. It’s all very chummy and
inefficient at the same time. A few hours later, he returns to his desk, flips
through the pages of my passport and seems satisfied enough for approval. I
managed to complete a couple hours of work at the office later in the
afternoon…

Having travelled and lived enough in Asia (and not meaning to pigeonhole too
much), this process is all too familiar and not frustrating at all. Signs of
anger or displeasure get one nowhere generally, not to mention being my style,
and so whether my patience has developed out of necessity or inner peace
doesn’t matter so much as does tolerance being the key. Of course every
country has its own idiosyncrasies and difficulties (witness the US’s own
immigration service now shelved under the homeland security), which anyone who
has travelled or lived abroad knows all too well. Would an official visa
(separate line at the airport for diplomats and officials! Although, sadly, not
often manned) from the government be this easy? And would I be able to come
away with this much material?

February 1, 2005

All of the rumors and scuttlebutt have come to a head—this morning His Majesty
took to the airwaves to announce that he was assuming control of the
government, suspending multi-party democracy for the time being, placing party
leaders—the [former] prime minister included—under house arrest and declaring a
state of emergency. I will first say, dear readers, that things are blissfully
calm in the capital despite all phone lines, including mobile service, and
electricity being cut in addition to the closing of the international airport
eerily just minutes before the King made his announcement. Indeed, the
omnipotence of such a move is downright Orwellian, yet, despite the
overwhelming presence of security forces on the streets and the rumbling of
tanks and army vehicles on the main thoroughfares, things are quite calm and we
are in no immediate danger. In a stroke of genius and learning well from past
demonstrations mobilized through mobile and phone communications, His Majesty
has decided to take no risks in this instance. Declaring a state of emergency
means that civil liberties have been suspended and public gatherings can be
disbanded through the barrel of a gun… We await the morning to see what will
transpire.

Readers will recall that I mentioned rumors of such a move back in December, and
so today’s move seems mostly to have been expected. Although His Majesty is not
much liked in Nepal—in spite of being an incarnation of the god Vishnu—my
cursory chats with Nepalis indicates that his announcement is mostly welcome in
a country beaten down by a civil war with no real end in sight. The King has
given himself 3 years to solve this crisis, which seems like a long time, but
given the pace with which most matters move in this country, it may, indeed,
take that long to achieve a lasting peace. I doubt, however, that the King has
entered into the fray without an exit strategy, but then again, certain circle
estimations that he has absolutist monarch tendencies may be true…

Feb. 2

Things are still calm this morning, yet, despite the clampdown on domestic news
services, BBC World Service reports condemnations from the Indian and US
governments, the latter being almost laughable considering balloons floated out
of Washington lately about the development of a worldwide network of enemy
combatant containment facilities, or whatever they are being called—habeas
corpus lifetime denial centers. Yes, censorship and restrictions on public
gatherings is part of the current state of emergency in Nepal, but it is
telling that the writ of habeas corpus has been upheld.

Telephone service is still down and apparently no flights are entering the
country, but other than that there is no siege mentality in Kathmandu. Life
seems to be going on as normal although a lot of ex-pats, like myself, having
taken a day of leave from work until communications are restored.

What waits to be discerned is how the official maoist leadership will react to
this news. Of course, one of the maoist demands is abolishing the monarchy all
together; on the other hand, the Maoists have always demanded that negotiations
be held directly with the King—this presents them with a dilemma. In some
sense, the Maoists are probably smarting today that the palace has stolen some
of their thunder and swiftly commandeered the agenda in their own court. Still
the King himself doesn’t seem to be helping himself too much with appointment of
Ranas (the former ruling dynastic clan) to his royal council, and this no doubt
will be used as fodder against him. While the King made conciliatory gestures
to the Maoists in his speech welcoming them to the negotiating table, he also
mentioned in the same breath that he would not waver in crushing the Maoists
should they continue with their aggressive strategy.

The latest bit of news is that the Maoists have stated that His Majesty’s
assumption has absolutely closed the door on negotiations… and so we go round
and round again.

And what will happen with development aid that flows into this country (which is
higher this year than last by the way)? India has already commented that the
continuation of aid would be dependent upon Nepal’s restoration of some
semblance of multi-party democracy, but then again, India—facing its own
Naxalite separatist movement albeit not as serious—already receives waves of
illegal immigrants from Nepal—mostly from the hard hit areas—and would not want
to see this situation become worse than it is. I doubt that this move, at least
now, would affect the aid schemes of the UK, US and northern European
countries—the biggest contributors to Nepal’s foreign aid.

Feb. 3

Communications were restored briefly last evening for about 30 minutes
apparently, but this morning again they have been cut. Today was scheduled,
pre-government sacking, to be a Maoist transportation strike, but a lot of
Nepalis seem to be defying this order. I will venture out at some point to see
if public transportation is running—a key indicator during Maoist strikes.
Motorcycles and taxis with blacked out license plates (particularly the latter
which can jack up prices during strikes) sometimes defy these strikes anyway in
the capital, but trucks and buses are not normally that brave… Mostly calm; I
await a working phone line…

Feb. 4

Something new: first ever birthday celebrated under state of emergency…

Both sides kill with impunity. Inevitably, a growing number of civilians are leaving their homes in search of security and shelter. Many do not find it. Instead they end up dead, tortured, disappeared, rearrested, raped, illegally detained or hopelessly displaced, like thousands of their fellow citizens. Whereas the Maoists are operating without a chain of command and respect for international law, their government opponents are operating under a chain of command—starting in the palace—that has institutionalized the same lack of respect for international principles…. The king has failed to adopt a realistic and sincere approach towards a solution to the conflict. It is his decisions that have paved the way for the continued violence and impunity of state security officials along which the whole country is now being dragged.

Of course, there is much, too, that can be said about the Maoists and their own deplorable practices, but many in Kathmandu now feel that the king has no desire to move quickly, particularly as he, by all appearances anyway, inches further and further outside of his constitutional monarchy role. Still, one never really knows since the papers are full of speculations about either calling elections or holding peace talks. The palace has at least dropped many of the “conditions” for the latter.

What this means for the average Nepali is a new year ushered in by more strife and struggle—struggle for daily subsistence. I seriously wonder whether the project I designed for rural Mahottari district will be able to operate effectively in such a milieu. Yet, the resiliency of many poor Nepalis is astonishing. On the brink of starvation, their are village women who chase off Maoists with their sheer numbers, only to have them come back and have to chase them off once again… Some villages are on the threshold of starvation, and, again, it’s the women who walk days and weeks foraging food for their families.

For us, Kathmandu seems not too troubled by shortages, except when the Maoists call Kathmandu Valley strikes (luckily, we were out of the country during the most recent strike). Currently, most of the city, and the country, are up in arms about the hike in fuel prices. This includes kerosene, which many households outside of Kathmandu use for cooking fuel, and many restaurants—certainly, every hole in the wall chai shop—use. The price is now about 50¢ per litre—a whopping sum in a country where many live on $1 per day. And it is quite difficult just finding the stuff—we have a kerosene heater that I have yet to buy kerosene for since no one seems to know when and where to get it… Nepalis love to use the terms “up there” and “down there,” so when I inquire about places to buy kerosene, it is normally an “up there” that I get in response. But “up there” has remained quite elusive. And when I have seen supplies, there is normally a long queue of people waiting—there is no beating Nepali women to the punch, who seem to have a knack for the exact time that it will be delivered and go on sale… Only because of the good graces of our landlord (who feels a little bad about the stolen bicycles, I think, but is a great guy nonetheless), who gave us a couple of litres to stoke up our heater, have we been able to knock off the chill these last couple of nights. Nothing much comes between Migyoung and myself, except the hot water bottle in bed…

These are relatively minor hardships for us. Indeed, over the longest and hottest summer I can ever remember, how I longed for cold nights like these. I now have an even more decrepit, used and beat up bicycle to replace my stolen steed that in reality wasn’t that much better. This one, along with the other corps of beater bikes abandoned behind the VSO office, was blessed with a blob of red tika powder on its front fender (serving as the forehead, I suppose) and has a red and white “offering” tied around its handlebars, so I’m hopeful that this may ward off any thieves that also happen to be devout Hindus… It makes an awful squeaking racket when I peddle it and the rear brake pads are threatening to fall off, but it gets me to work and back and other places around town when I just can’t be bothered to cram into another auto rickshaw/three-wheeler. The irony is that I am probably the only ex-pat in town that chooses to ride an Indian pushbike as opposed to a more modern and sleek mountain bike. I chose the Indian bike because 1) I thought it would be less likely to get stolen (wrong) and 2) because I just enjoy riding it more and I can never really get going fast enough to hurt myself. I love to be able to sit up straight on it and take in my surroundings (but not too much lest I get swiped by another two-wheeler of the motorized kind). The Indian-made bicycles are virtually indestructible—sure, nuts and bolts fall off from time to time (even pedals!) but you can stop on practically every street corner and there will be a little roadside place with an array of new and used parts. Besides, those mountain bikes only look good, and it’s only a matter of time before their nuts and bolts fall off as well…

I now come home from work and have a shower immediately before the water turns from luke warm to cold, but the cold weather and short days mean that we’ve yet to have anything really hot, but we’ve grown rather accustomed to the one-minute bath… A seemingly permanent morning haze hangs over the city this time of year—partly fog, exhaust fumes and the smoke of a thousand street fires. There is a woody, sweet smell to these fires—combinations of straw, cow dung, scrap wood, briquettes, rubbish and corn husks fashioned into miniature logs—that I love and unconsciously associate with this part of the world. When I stepped off the plane in Mumbai many years ago, it was my first sensation; the same, too, this time around in Kathmandu. In the early mornings and late evenings there are groups of people huddled around these fires, perhaps cupping a small glass of chai, down virtually every alleyway and inter-city vegetable patch. They’re welcoming: you can stop, warm up your hands, exchange a few pleasantries and move on.

Friday the 14th

Today is the first day of the Nepali calendar month Magh, and, appropriately enough, the festival Maghesankranti. It’s supposed to be the end of the coldest winter months and a harbinger of better days to come, but although it was quite sunny today and moderately warmer, it was still quite cold in my freezer box of an office… It’s also a day of ritual bathing in the rivers for Hindus—Devghat being the place and river of choice. And like most festivals, there’s the obligatory food served on a plate made out of sal tree leaves—today it was a sticky ball of sesame seeds and molasses, a piece of raw yam and a hunk of refined butter or ghee. Not exactly lunch, but I always enjoy being able to partake of these little treats. Today I celebrate my major coup—5 litres of precious kerosene for the heater. There we were in the queue—myself and a horde of ragamuffin children sent out by their parents to get the fuel for the night’s cooking, heating or lighting. In actuality, the rise in prices has made it a bit easier to get kerosene, since, I believe, many people are cutting back in favor of cooking over an open fire. Already, public transportation fares have rise, much to the chagrin of the general public—yet another reason why people are taking to the streets…

At work, my new task for the year is to somehow link my new organization with the dalit rights project that my old organization will soon embark on. This will be no easy task, since my new org is quite a bit more strategic in terms of governance and may balk a bit at taking a more secondary role, but, at the same time, Aasaman (ASN) has been receptive to preliminary discussions I have had with them, and my old org, WCDC, also seems interested in receiving some assistance from ASN (particularly if it will give me more time to work on the project) or linking some of their programs (a child labor eradication component) with the overall goals of the dalit rights project. I’m excited that the collaboration could lead to great benefits for both organizations (not to mention beneficiaries), but the devil is always in the details, and I will have to exert quite a bit of effort, I think, in liaising between the two groups. The project will continue for another 2 years—beyond the scope of time that I have committed to stay in Nepal—and already I am thinking that I may be able to extend my time and commit those last few months with the close out of the project, and, more particularly, how to sustain it beyond the funding cycle. But that’s a long way off, and the security and political situation, I assume, will play a large part in my decision.

Christmas morning, Jaipur, India, 2004:

There were no presents under our tree this morning—nor, indeed, a tree—but we ordered a bucket of hot water each from the irrepressible proprietress of our guesthouse, Mrs. Singh, after a very cold edge of the desert night. For breakfast, we had masala dosa—a flat, thin crispy pancake stuffed with curried vegetables—and hot coffees in the appropriately named Indian Coffee House. It’s a delightfully grubby place set back off of the main M.I. Road in a haveli courtyard with dirty, lime green walls, chipped concrete and portraits of the Indian political triumvirate: Indira, Nehru and the Mahatma. Waiters here wear soiled white outfits complete with cummerbunds and those funny, Raj/ice cream cone hats. The urinal in the courtyard is just that with a sign that reads: “urinal only; we regret the inconvenience due to legal litigation.” I wanted to ask, but didn’t… For Christmas Eve, we watched a Hindi film (not as much singing and dancing as we would have liked) at the most opulently grotesque theater imaginable—the Raj Mandir—a cross between retro art deco and bad 80’s furnishings.

Our flight to India from Kathmandu was delayed by a day due to the ubiquitous fog/haze that blankets northern India/southern Nepal this time of year, and rather than wait around another day for a flight to Varanasi, we opted for Delhi. After a bit of wrangling in the Delhi Airport, Indian Airlines put us up for the night (it took us 26 hours to finally get to India…). We stored our bags in the Old Delhi railway station—cloak rooms as they are affectionately known—and wandered around the back alleys and amazing bazaars of OD for almost 10 hours: spice markets, used car parts, cricket bats and paraphernalia, street vendors offering all sorts of curried things, mosques, Sikh temples and even a Jain bird hospital. We took the night train out of Delhi and arrived in Jaipur the next morning at 6:00 AM. There, in the darkness, we were met by a gaggle of touts immediately upon stepping foot on the platform—that much of India has not changed. We did half of Jaipur on foot—much to the chagrin of the thousands of bicycle rickshaw wallahs—and the other half the following day. Jaipur is appropriately called the pink city (although it is more accurately a sort of rust color) and is loaded with palaces (the famous one being the lovely named Palace of the Winds) and Maharaja sightseeing stops, yet the other half of Jaipur has grown into a rather bustling city. Like most things in India, the best of times and places are found just wandering around.

And other days & nights:

We boarded the night train for Bikaner (375 kms to the northwest)—a fairly grubby version of the Indian train on this not so popular route, but we had upper berth, 2nd class sleepers reserved despite the antiquity of the train. Crossing this part of the desert at night with nothing more than a few shawls was foolish on our part—temps dropped down to freezing as we shivered through a few hours of sleep. I finally gave up on it around 5:00 AM, had a cigarette in the carriage entrance/exit next to the smelly toilets (or hole in the floor) and was lucky enough to see the full moon rising (or was it setting) simultaneously with the break of dawn over the Thar Desert—stunningly beautiful. Once in Bikaner, we beat back a group of rickshaw wallahs long enough to have a cup of chai and share a bidi and a chat with Corporeal Singh (every other person has the surname Singh it seems) around a crudely lit fire of rubbish in a dirt lot next to the station.

Bikaner is a fairly large, dusty city but its walled old city with Mughal influenced architecture and narrow lanes were a pleasure to meander through. We witnessed several wedding processions with the groom on horseback being led by blaring Hindi music and large groups of men dancing wildly in front. Somehow we found our way to the 550 yr old Jain temple—a 3-tiered with each progressively smaller from bottom to top. Bikaner’s fort was quite a surprise: more beautiful and better preserved in our estimation than the much ballyhooed city palace of Jaipur. Bikaner sees fewer tourists/travelers than other Rajasthan cities and so has a rather unspoilt feel about it. People are generally quite friendly and outgoing if not a little over the top. I use a lot of Nepali here, which is usually understood once I attempt to change around the verb endings, but, alas, sometimes not at all.

India is a dichotomy: it has grown up tremendously yet remains much the same. The burgeoning middle class is all around at tourist haunts with their mobile phones and digital cameras, but so too is the ubiquitous poverty. It is hard to say which is the poorer of the two, India or Nepal, although by appearances poverty seems to be more prevalent in India, I tend to think this is a matter of India’s population dwarfing that of Nepal. Beggars and street children seem more rife here, and although visible in Kathmandu, because we tend to be in more “residential” areas we don’t encounter people on the streets as frequently in Nepal. Certainly, Mahottari, where we lived in southern Nepal, is as poor as any area in India, but because no foreigners ever stopped there, we never encountered anyone asking for anything. The appearance of westerners/travelers no doubt prompts, perhaps enables, this process the world over.

We made the 7-hour journey across the desert (once again—Rajasthani cities are very spread out with wide swathes of empty desert between) by bus from Bikaner to Jaisalmer with what seemed to be mostly turbaned and handlebar mustached men. India’s bus service has also grown up, or at least it has in Rajasthan. A decade ago, you through something through the open window of the bus (and hope it landed in a seat) and that was how “reservations” were made… Now there are printed tickets and even seat numbers! We arrived in Jaisalmer just before sunset—the penultimate time in this desert outpost—and were met, of course, by a horde of touts (mostly boarding the bus before we even had an opportunity to disembark). Jaisalmer is dominated by its old fort—a tangle of houses, narrow alleyways (and frequent cow jams), Jain temples and former Maharaj palaces—but when I stayed here over 15 years ago, there were only two guesthouses in the fort. Now there must be between 20-30 and the charm and quaintness of the area has no doubt been spoiled somewhat. With popularity comes kitsch and pushiness, but luckily for Jaisalmer, the town has remained small. This pushiness and constant hawking of something or other, meant that we changed guesthouses 3 times before settling into a place that left us alone (at least from the pressure to buy or do something through them) with steaming buckets of hot water for bathing and unbeatable rooftop views. We did the almost obligatory camel trek through the desert for 2 days and one night (years ago, I did a 3 or 4 night trek) and camped out under the stars on New Year’s eve—the first time since childhood I have been to bed before midnight). Our first day on the camel (one for Migyoung and one for myself) was a difficult and cold trek through a blustery sandstorm, which, thankfully, finally settled down by sunset. The second day was a beautiful, cloudless day through desert nothingness and small Muslim and dalit villages. The children in these villages are well rehearsed with their mantras of one rupee, one pen, almost unbearably so. I preferred the slow, rhythmic and surprisingly meditative rocking of the camel ride itself, despite a very sore bum at the end of the second day. Chapatis and curries never tasted better than when prepared over an open fire in the middle of the desert.

Post-camel trek back in Jaisalmer, we opted to spend a few lazy days in town (and the difficulty of getting train tickets back to Delhi during this popular time of the year to visit the desert) doing many things on foot and just taking in the general ambiance. Back in Delhi on the 6th and then on to Kathmandu on the 8th. Delhi, and I imagine Mumbai, Kolkata and Chennai, is almost unrecognizable to me a decade later. Middle class development is everywhere within the heart of the city (despite the slum areas still being thrown up all along the rail lines as you make your way into the city) and there is a new, fashion and status conscious breed of Indian on the rise. Despite more automobiles on the roads and the smattering of newer homes here and there, Kathmandu has remained more in a time warp as compared to Indian cities it seems. High tech development in India is the most ubiquitous (it seems that having a mobile phone is more important than the evening thali) and has led to the whole remaking of cities such as Bangalore in the south (the Indian silicon valley). Still, with only a cursory view of village life on this trip and based on the recent elections in India that kicked out the government which oversaw all of this development in favor of the old-guard Congress party, much of this development has not trickled down to the masses, and that much is the same in Nepal as well. Social and economic indicators as a whole are higher in India than in Nepal (a civil war, new King and totally inept government has hampered any development in Nepal) and that much is quite visible. And on the whole, for whatever reasons, Nepal remains the more “relaxed” of the two countries. At times, India seems a country totally on the make.

I have also reached an age in my life where I can say that I have been there and done that before things changed. I remember India (and Nepal for that matter) as a place where only the most hardy of backpacker ventured due to the difficulty of travel and the sheer overwhelming nature of the country. The place still generally smells of cow dung and sandalwood, but infrastructure developments have led to a new breed of traveler (even an army of newly wealthy Indian tourists) making the rounds to places once considered outposts. This has been both good and bad for India, I imagine…

There is both good news and bad news upon returning to Kathmandu: the good news is that our house now has solar panels for a bit of hot water (there is no real storage system, so it is “make bath while the sun shines”), but the bad news is that our bicycles were stolen while we were away despite being locked in addition to being inside a locked and gated compound. The locals say the most likely culprits are the glue sniffing street kids in the neighborhood. I’ll give them credit for scaling a wall, passing the bicycles over the wall and then having to break the bicycle locks. A bit of thievery (one digital camera, two bicycles) has sullied our Nepal experience a bit, but not enough to hold a grudge against the country as a whole. Other good news is that my grant proposal to the European Commission was accepted and the contract has been signed. You may remember that this was something I put together for my previous organization—a two-year Dalit Rights and Inclusion project, which includes the formation of inter-caste community-based associations, allied women’s groups, human rights and activist training and advocacy, income generation skills training and seed money, community generated/activist newsletters and forums, and even working with local government officials on appropriately allocating funding for dalit-focused projects. I am elated with these developments, and will be lobbying hard to return to the south to help set this project up and engage in periodic monitoring and evaluation.

Here's wishing everyone--and the world--a peaceful 2005

I’ve just returned—shall I say, triumphantly (?)—from a field visit to the Terai—the old stomping grounds—with my new organization. Ten days and lots of visits to villages and toles (a kind of sub-village) where Aasaman implements its child labor eradication and universal education programs, some of those visits to the, supposedly, very, very sensitive areas. We stopped in some of those hard-hit areas for lunch one day--I kept an eye out for the Maoists while chomping down on a whole onion pakora in a little pasal opposite the completely boarded up and locked Village Development Office. But other than boarded up officialdom, life seemed to go on pretty much as normal. The weather was delightful (an oxymoron: Terai and good weather?)—no more perpetual sweat stains around the armpits and chest, but still easily daytime short sleeve weather. Although I’ve traveled quite a bit in Mahottari district, I had an opportunity to visit some of the remotest and quaint villages of Dhanusha, Mahottari and Sarlahi districts on this trip.

I also got to see and experience a bit of the festival that everyone talked about the entire time we lived in the Terai—Chhat. Although I’m still not sure what Chhat is all about, it is only celebrated in the southern part of Nepal, and, like most festivals here, has a very important link with Hinduism. Its mecca is in Janakpur—where we bedded down for the night—which was completely decked out in colorful lights and a heavy haze of incense floating wafting through the air (a good thing given Janakpur’s ever expanding population of street cows, and with it, the smell). Families—mostly female members—constructed small alters of banana leafs stacked with fruit, incense and iconography all around Janakpur’s sacred—albeit, sometimes stagnant—ponds. These small shrines were attended throughout the night, and at dawn, all the women break their fast (not much of a festival for them…) and take a ritual bath in the ponds. This all took place on my first day in town, and was followed night after night with harmonium and tabla music blared on loudspeakers for everyone with the chant of Sita Ram, Sita Ram, Sita Ram throughout the night.

The visits to the villages were great—lots of smiling and happy kids, who formerly labored away in fields, homes, restaurants and other establishments, was enough to warm even my heart. We met with people in the villages that had took part in awareness raising campaigns regarding child labor and now sent their children to school, often at their own or their families hardship. There were meetings with district education officers about how we might work collaboratively on eradicating child labor and making universal education a reality. And, of course, there were the harsher realities of mind-numbing poverty and utter inability of parents to send their children to school without having to forfeit their already meager, if any, earnings. I tend to believe, and have seen, many families do suffer (this is usually women)—either with regards to time or economically-- when their children attend school full time, and just by establishing a non-negotiable principle—as my organization does—that any child out of school is to be considered a child laborer will not fully address this issue. Although I believe universal human rights need no justification and incentive in and of themselves, and that some studies—which my organization relies heavily on—do show that by removing children from the work force does provide more job opportunities for adults (and less exploitation), I also have very recent firsthand experience with families that would suffer greatly if their children attended school full time. While I admire greatly the principles of my organization, I am also trying to link, and convince my colleagues, some income generation schemes to our programs as an extra incentive—and overall boon for local economies—to remove children from work, get them into school and abolish child labor. It seems to me, at least at this point, to be the best marriage of theory and practicality and a better holistic approach.

Not everything went that well in the Terai, however. I had my digital camera stolen one day while, of all places, attending a Children’s Fair celebration in a small town. I had always assumed that if something like did happen to us it would be in Kathmandu and not out in the districts. In almost ten years of travel, work and living abroad, it’s the first thing I’ve ever had stolen….and hopefully the last. No more new pictures for a while, but I’ve got enough saved up on disk to last for a few months.

Tihar, Deepawali, The festival of lights is upon us here in Nepal. Today is Kokur Tihar, or the festival of dogs, where every beautiful and mangy mutt alike gets a red tika on its forehead and a garland of marigolds around its neck. Last night on the eve of Kokur Tihar, seemingly as if they were aware of what was about to befall them, the dogs were in a bit of frenzy: a bark or yelp from one warrants a call from others until a crescendo is reached—seemingly the chorus goes on for miles away—until it becomes a cacophony of great proportions. But this morning even the mangiest of beasts—the dog with a portion of its ear missing and the balding pink one that stakes its claim in the vacant lot across from our house—swaggered around or basked in the sun or dug through the rubbish in front of the butcher shop proudly with its garland of flowers and tika in tact. Yesterday was Kag, or crow Tihar (food is left out on balconies for the crows) and tomorrow is Gai, or cow Tihar (cows are garlanded and their horns painted silver and gold), respectively. Unlike Dashain when animals are slaughtered with abandon, Tihar seems to give every animal its due, no matter if 364 days out of the year, dogs are normally kicked and generally avoided…

Actually, it’s all a bit like Chirstmas. In addition to cows, tomorrow is also Laxmi Pooja, the goddess of, among other things, wealth, and so people put up lights or candles in their windows to light the way for Laxmi to visit their home. People also paint her footprints in front of their entrances, or streak a path of mud from outside to their doorstep so there is no mistaking her welcome… Kathmandu temples are buzzing with activity and the city is awash in red and yellow lights and candles.

So, it’s a three-day workweek for me with Constitution Day falling on Monday (not much celebrating for that considering the political problems in this country; in fact, there was probably more burning of the constitution than celebration) and Laxmi Pooja tomorrow. It’s a tough life… But the three days I was at work this week were busy ones putting the finishing touches on preparations for a big planning meeting next week. This morning was meetings with Save the Children Japan, and next Tuesday I’m off to Janakpur (field office) for planning meetings all week. It will be nice to get back to Janakpur that things have (hopefully) cooled off there and to meet all of the program field staff. I’ll have a few bit parts in facilitating the process, but a lot of it will be my continuing education into their inner workings of the organization before returning to Kathmandu to put the finishing touches on the next year’s plan. I’ve enjoyed the process, or just having a process, really.

On Monday, Migyoung, myself and two of our friends working in Nepal, hiked to the summit of Nagarjun—a peak that is visible from Kathmandu and forms the rim of the Kathmandu Valley. What should have been a rather straightforward 2-3 hour hike to the top, turned into a 4 hour scramble—a lot of it bushwhacking our way up the sides of ridges. But our efforts were rewarded at the summit with beautiful views of the snow-capped Himalaya all around, a hazy view of the valley below us, a white Buddhist stupa and thousands of prayer flags fluttering in the afternoon breeze.

We’ve never seen Kathmandu more beautiful than last night—the night that Laxmi visits homes. Almost every home and shop had lights up, and small mandalas in front of their entrance made with brightly colored powders, marigold petals and candles, normally with a trail of either powder, flower petals or mud running into their business or home. Groups of children roamed the streets beating out a rhythm with a makeshift tambourine made of bottle caps and sticks of wood shouting the bhailo song in hopes of receiving a few coins in return. Frustrated shopkeepers—perhaps running low on coins—mainly shooed them away. During the day, we walked from the reclining Vishnu at Budhanilkantha to the Kopan Monastery through quaint villages of tikaed cows and life as usual—women washing clothes (and themselves) in the river, the tending of the now bare rice paddies and a general festiveness of the day… Migyoung and I both had a go on the homemade bamboo swing set up for the holidays.

My new work is with an organization called Aasaman Nepal (Aasaman is a Mithili word meaning blue sky) with offices in both Kathmandu and Janakpur and working areas in the southern part of Nepal-Mahottari (my old district), Dhanusha and Sarlahi with hopeful plans to extend into other areas of the Terai. Aasaman works in the area of child labor, eradicating it that is, through the promotion of universal education for all children up through the age of 15. Of course, there is more to the child labor issue than merely promoting universal education-a large part of Aasaman’s work includes the monitoring of child labor issues in these districts and throughout the country; working with communities and local officials on changing social norms regarding child labor (widely accepted and taken for granted in Nepal); training child’s rights protectors at the village level and even assisting communities and villages with income generation schemes for the administration of schools and the infrastructure of school facilities themselves. Aasaman also works with educators on retention techniques for children who do attend school (and to ascertain that children who move from work to school will remain), and has started programs aimed at discouraging and eradicating child marriage (a kind of child labor, especially for girls, not to mention the other human rights issues), which also prevents children from attending schools and has plans in the works to develop a more comprehensive early childhood development (ECD) program.

Aasaman’s primary source of funding at the moment comes via Save the Children Japan, and two of my current colleagues worked for SCJ in the past. This can be viewed as both a weakness and a strength: weakness in terms of dependency on one major donor, but a strength in that SCJ work experience means that the organization is much more strategic than the majority of indigenous NGOs in Nepal, which is much to my delight in these first few weeks of work. Aasaman takes great inspiration from the MV Foundation in India-an organization that takes a zero tolerance policy regarding child labor (all children out of school are to be considered child laborers) and has pioneered this principle. This is a tough line to follow in Nepal, especially in the districts, where child labor is generally accepted as a natural part of Nepal’s impoverished state. The general argument that one may hear is that the eradication of child labor will inevitably lead to a more impoverished state for families due to the loss of income. The MV Foundation, and in turn Aasaman, believe that the abolition of child labor actually lifts families out of poverty: with children out of the work force adults are able to take their place and demand more money because the source of cheap labor has been eradicated. Families often sell off livestock (it was their child’s task to take care of them) for normally a bit more income, or other family members fill the void. There is some evidence to prove, however, if the burden of extra work should fall on anyone it is typically women (mothers) who, despite the even longer hours, are normally more than happy to oblige given that their children have an opportunity to attend school.

Policy makers (include the ILO or International Labor Organization here) have tended to focus on children in the so-called hazardous industries, which is fair enough considering they tend to be the most exploited and the most visible. In Nepal, however, the largest number of child laborers work in the agriculture sector, and with such daunting figures, the tendency, I believe, is to have completely ignored this aspect of child labor. It’s a tough “poverty argument,” but which doesn’t always hold up. A question that begs to be answered is: Are all families not sending their children to school too poor to do so? Aasaman works under the assumption that this is not always the case as there are even examples of families well off enough to send their children to school that do not. Factors that contribute to this may be: tradition, illiteracy, and lack of access and weak local administration of policy in the village districts that does not demand that all children attend school.

Besides myself, there are four others in the Kathmandu office, all with distinctive titles, which normally corresponds to the work at hand. Most everyone seems to be involved with a variety of things-that’s one of my jobs, to delineate tasks for more efficiency. At the same time, their skill level is quite advanced, and I’ve been quite impressed, at least initially, with their thoughtful approach. Of course, there’s always room for improvement in terms of planning and management, but those are fun issues to get into when everyone has a willingness to do so. And so far, that seems to be one of the biggest differences between my new and old organization. I’ve yet to meet any field staff, but will hopefully do so soon during some planning meetings and site visits in the districts.

There was the beginnings of a jatra (festival) yesterday just outside our office doors. Nepalis love to construct these elaborate chariots and poles made out of wood and bamboo, ornately decorated with flowers and burst of color and carry and/or wheel them around the city. About 20-30 men struggled to hoist this particular pole up on their shoulders (while two others stood on top and turned the top part of the pole around like a giant prayer wheel) and then march off to different temples and areas of the city. I believe this festival was in celebration of Narayan, or the sleeping figure of Vishnu as he awakes from his monsoon slumber. The pantheon of gods and goddesses all have their special day even if it is just to announce that they are once again on the job.

I have VSO workshops to attend most of next week on good governance and a couple of extra days especially for management advisors and our MA group referred to as MAPS (“you won’t get lost” or something cheeky like that is the slogan…) for which I have been asked to facilitate a couple of sessions-I expect more of this being now based in Kathmandu, but it’s a good opportunity to diversify my own work and experience.

Tihar, or the festival of lights, is coming, which I look forward to since I have good memories of it during my travel days in India. Everyone puts candles or lights in their window during the night to welcome the entrance of the goddess Laxmi, the bringer of wealth and good fortune.