I was literally in tears over this man, Greg Mortensen. One of the most inspiring stories I have ever heard, and I'm already thinking of ways to start my own education campaign to build schools, well, anywhere. He's amazing, and you must read it.
I would also seriously consider hitchhiking, or biking, or walking to Montana or anywhere that he is speaking. He has a calendar of events throughout the year of speeches, and all the amazing awards he is given. It might just change your way of thinking, at least about the impact all of our actions can have. I think he might just change the way you want to live your life, and it just goes to show how important our impact on this world is. Truly inspiring.
So great news on the home front, the monkeys have fled the premise! However, we are now house sitting for one such crazy cat lady in Kathmandu, who apparently owns a cat wearing a tiger suit. No joke, this feline is craazy. She races around the house and then pounces in mid air landing on whatever is in her way, usually me, and clings on with her talon like claws. I have the scars to prove it.
I used to be one of those kids that was obsessed with animals, I don't lie. I wanted to be a veterinarian for the majority of childhood, and when I found out what really goes on behind closed doors at the vet, I decided it would be better to be a zoologist. I used to spend hours watching PBS nature shows, National Geographic, yea I was one of those kids.
Well that dream is long gone, along with my love for animals. I wanted another dog for years after we had to put my beloved childhood pup down, but now that I live in Asia (or anywhere where the dogs roam freely on the streets) I am seriously reconsidering. I won't deny that I have might have even thought about kicking an animal these days, on more than one occasion. I am no animal abuser, but these rapscallions are nothing to mess with. I probably feel about the same way about stray dogs as I feel about those monkeys in my bed, and you all know how that is. We are not on the best of terms, and now the cat! I feel like I just crushed all my own childhood dreams.
I just don't see a way around it. I mean, I know I said I would be a dog walker or dog sitter, or whatever but I think might also really reconsider that offer. You do not want to mess with any animals in Nepal; dog, feline, monkey. Even the water buffaloes are a just a little scary. So rather than writing my blogs for work, this is what my life has come to. whoopsie. There needs to be some kind of post traumatic animal rehab center set up or something. I have acquired an unusual fear.
There is good news though, I finally took my rockin mountain bike out for a spin. When I say rockin I mean, well, it's actually about the size of a whale, or a tractor, or a cycle rickshaw. At least I feel safe on it because I pretty much take up half the road so no one can even pass me if they try. While it feels a little silly to cruise around on this monster of a ride, I really could care less, and I'm just ecstatic to be back on some wheels again. I think I was probably either born kicking, or pedaling.
If you don't have a bike, you need to get one. There is no better way to explore and discover new places. Not to mention, when you have a bike, there is no excuse for not being somewhere. It's so fast, that now whenever I walk somewhere I actually start running sometimes because I just can't deal with taking so long to get there. One of those weird habits I probably picked up from spending years running sprints on the soccer field, I just can't move slowly I guess.
The other fun thing about cycling in Nepal is I don't have to walk around mean mugging all the men anymore, I get to do it on a bike! It's pretty funny to see people trying to holler at me while they whiz past, three four five on a motorbike, or rickshaw, or plow. They still think it is totally acceptable to spit game in the middle of five lane traffic, oh wait, there are no lanes here. The traffic flow is pretty much a free for all, and people do whatever they want, at all times; it can get a little wild.
Well that is about all I got for now. I have to go check off all the rad things in Nepal I have to do before I leave. There are too many!
I just had maybe the best week of life last week. And let me tell y'all why...I finally got out of the polluted madness of Kathmandu and walked into the wild for a few days. Maybe the best solution for any problems, I'm telling you. Go for a hike and clear your mind, you will come up with some profound shit, I promise.
I will repeat what I did a few weeks ago to save myself the time of rewriting everything, this is what I wrote for work this week, plus some. Check it out...it's long, pull out the reading glasses.
Helambu-From the City to the Village.
Day 1
Ill prepared when I arrived in Nepal, I never planned on going trekking. The melting Himalayas, the impact of tourism on village life, and lack of gear and equipment; I just thought it would not happen. I did not want to have a negative impact on this beautiful country. My misperceptions could not have been more off. Late on Sunday night, the idea of trekking came to fruition with the motivation from a friend, and with the idea planted, we were packed and ready to go within hours.
Early Monday morning, our packs surprisingly heavy, we set out to catch a micro bus from Kathmandu to Sundarijal, the starting point for our week long back packing trip. Anxious with excitement and the unknown, the three hour bus ride sailed by and we landed in Sundarijal in the early afternoon, ready to embark on our newest adventure.
Sundarijal is merely a stopping point for hitting the trail at Helambu so we were immediately swept off our feet and directed to the trail head. Armed with torn out guide pages and a trail map, we started the climb to our first destination, Chisopani. Unfortunately, the cloud cover was thick in the morning and we were unable to see any mountains as the fog swept across the terraced hills. In spite of the fog, we started out strong, and it felt great to be back in the peace and quite of nature, and out of the polluted streets of Kathmandu.
At times it felt as if we were hiking through the hills of Costa Rica; brightly painted stucco houses complimented by swaying palm trees, corn stalks lining the walkway, chickens running loose and ducks padding along.
The most exciting part of our first day happened as we approached two men draining the intestines of a goat. They held the long spiraling intestines in one hand, flushing water through the balloon like tube to clean it out. As they finished this medical like procedure, the man in charge even showed us how they clean out the stomach. With a quick slice down the middle of the ballooning flesh, with his Kukuri –Nepali for knife- he drained the massive stomach of all contents. When we asked what was in the stomach, he simply shrugged with a smile, “Goo,” as if he knew exactly what we were thinking.
As I reflected later during the trek, thinking about the Everest sized mountain of rice that often accompanies the Nepali Dhal Bhaat, I felt wasteful just thinking about it. Eating goat or meat is often considered a luxury, and Nepali’s typically finish every last part of the animal, down to the intestines. It’s something to think about during all those meals when my eyes are much greater than my stomach, and it’s a struggle finishing the whole meal. Although those of you who know me well, know this rarely happens to me.
In the meantime, after witnessing literally, my first gut wrenching animal carcass, and reaffirming my lifelong commitment to vegetarianism, we finally arrived in Chisopani in the early afternoon, to rest our tired legs and warm up with a cup of hot tea. It soon became evident we were the only foreigners in Chisopani, so we stayed at the famed Mountain View Resort, one of many along the way, and enjoyed a delicious meal with the three friendly brothers who owned the lodge.
Day 2
As the rice terraces and rolling hills loomed in the foreground, trying to mentally prepare myself for the climb and unsure of what I was actually getting myself into, we set out very early the next morning to tackle the sweeping landscape. Our next destination lay a quick seven hours away in Kutumsang, contrasted by the Langtang Mountain Range and the Sherpa and Tamang villages sprinkled throughout the hillside. Of the 36 Caste’s in Nepal, the Helambu Region is most heavily populated by the Sherpa’s and Sherpini’s (Sherpini is the term for female Sherpa, which I was delighted to hear from one such woman) who gallantly trundle through the hillsides with effervescent grace.
Well into our way on day two of our trek, the cloud cover had dissipated and we were graced with stunning views of the landscape around us; sweeping terraced hillsides, palm trees, and bright speckles of the climbing Sherpa were more than enough to keep our feet moving in rhythm. Some of the most breathtaking views I have seen in my lifetime, and through heavy breathing and heavy feet, it was difficult to not stop and stare for hours.
Unaware of the sheer strength I would encounter along the way, I was consistently blown away by the resilience and power of the Sherpa people. Towards the end of the trek, as my gait slowed to a mere crawl, my legs aching and back sweating, I knew there was no room for excuses; the Sherpa outdid me every time. Hauling baskets on their heads overflowing with rice, sand, leaves, or fertilizer, each and every one displayed more strength than most people I have encountered in my life. While I was afraid the borrowed pair of shoes I sported would not be sufficient, or my bag would be too heavy; the Sherpas consistently trudged by wearing nothing more than a t shirt, sandals, and at times no shoes at all. Their feet cracking and thick from years of hiking, appeared stronger than the $90 hiking boots adorned on most trekkers feet.
Somewhere along the way, we encountered a group of school children on their daily walk back from school. Exams were finishing and they were headed home for a short holiday away from school
The few Nepali words I know were enough to gather that they make the long trek to school every single day, twice. A group of around ten girls slowly gathered around us, all wearing sandals and matching school uniforms. Pushing my limits, I knew it was the least I could do to keep up with the 14 year old girls, as I dragged my tired legs up hillside after hillside. In quick pursuit, we were also followed by a woman, appearing to be at least 70 years old, trudging along steadily up the hill. As we took a few rest breaks to chat with the girls and snap photos, she slowly made her way up the hill and passed us on the way down, her feet quietly crunching leaves under her polka dotted flip flops. Once again surpassed by someone twice my age, and ill equipped in every way by Western standards, to climb a mountain of this scale, all I could do was smile.
In the midst of our new found friends, one of the girls, a stunning 14 year old named Nanu recommended her uncles guest house where she lived. Unable to turn down her sweet face, we walked the remainder of our trip by her side to another Mountain View Resort, where we were greeted amiably by her uncles and a stunning view of the setting sun over the mountain peaks in the distance.
The lodge was nestled between the rolling hills, climbing Sherpa, and scattered guest houses. We arrived just in time for more hot tea, and meeting our new best friend, Frank, a six year old Dutch genius. He greeted us as any middle aged man would, and we quickly began chatting with the six year old as if he were the average adult trekker. Left by his parents who were off meditating, he was hanging out at the lodge with Nanu and her uncles. When we asked how he got to Kutumsang, naturally he replied, “I came with my Sherpa friends, and now I’m staying with my friends while mommy and daddy meditate at the Monastery.” His knowledge of Nepal and India were more than enough to convince my friend and I, that he was really an adult in a child’s body, posing as a decoy for tourists. He provided quite the entertainment for us, and we were delighted to spend time kicking back with him. We spent the rest of the evening eating delicious fried eggs and chapatti, drinking pots of tea and chatting with the lodge owners around the burning embers of a fire.
Day 3
Suffering from bouts of insomnia I was unable to sleep most nights of the trek, so our third morning in the hills I was feeling quite exhausted on the first leg of the hike. Our stopping point on this day was the highest point on the trek at Therapati, and also the intermission before the toughest part of the trek. Climbing uphill nearly the entire way with a quick stop in Magen Goth to re hydrate, we completed the day in our average of six hours, reaching Tharepati feeling refreshed and stronger than the day before.
The weather had cleared in the morning and once again we were blessed with clear skies and gorgeous views of the sweeping hills, but as we neared Tharepati, the clouds rolled in and the sky changed abruptly from a welcoming powder blue to a threatening shade of charcoal grey. Thunder clapping in the background, and lightning striking the clouds, we had arrived just before a surprise blizzard, almost unheard of in this region during the month of March. Fortunately, there was a fire ready and waiting for our arrival, and a perfect spot to read in the shadows of the LangtangMountains. We spent the night watching the snowfall, enshrouding our lodge and covering the mountains in a blanket of crystal powder. The snowflakes continued throughout the night, and we woke to a world silenced by the beauty of a fresh powder. The Langtang range emerged peacefully in the clear sky, and the crisp air complimented the crunch of fresh snow under our feet.
Day 4
Enthralled by the beauty of our surrounding and thrilled to have seen my first snowfall of 2009, we began the day in a cheery mood, sleeping in past our usual 7 am start time. Consistently told this day would be our hardest yet, and would take at least ten hours on our foreigner legs, we knew it was essential to move quickly. Constantly asked how quick we were in comparison to Nepalis, who just so happen to be world champion mountain climbers as it turns out, the reply was always that foreigners take twice as long as Nepalis, regardless of speed.
My trekking companion and I started the steep descent from Tharepati with caution, carefully picking our way through the melting snow and ice trickling on the trail. Unsure of my legs, I started to feel the weight of my pack early on, and I was already getting the feeling my legs had turned to jelly. Certain that I would fill the gap between us once we reached solid ground, I watched in awe as my friend descended rapidly, confident and sure of each step. Malemchigaon -as we coined theNew York City of Helambu for its grandeur size of more than five houses- was about half way between our final destinations. Sprawling out across the land in a small valley, I cruised through Malemchigaon hoping to find my friend sitting peacefully eating Dhal Bhatt, and waiting for me. However, she was nowhere to be found, and when I consulted the locals no one had seen her. Thinking she really was that fast, I continued along the trail in what I thought was the right way. Unfortunately, she was posted up drinking a hot lemon tea waiting for me, but I walked right on by taking the other route.
For the next seven hours, each of us thinking the other was injured or ahead of the other on the trail, I continued down the mountainside hoping to catch a glimpse of my friend. With no map, no trail heads, no signs, and no knowledge of the Nepali language, I carefully picked my way through the terraces, struggling to find my balance and make my way up the steep hills. I was basically to the point where I had given up on life, ready to lay down in the middle of the trail and let a Sherpa carry me home in a basket. I seriously, seriously considered laying down in a cowshed and shacking up. I swear, if I had run into any other trekkers they would have had a heli fly in to get me and evacuate me out, that's how torn up I was.
I continued on this way for the remainder of the day, literally saved by Didi each and every time. Didi is the term for older sister, also a form of respect for women elders. Basically everyone is Didi. I was so lost a few times, that children would come running after me down the trail yelling “Didi, Didi, this way this way!” to point me back in the right direction. This was one of the toughest days of hiking in my life, but I it was also the first time the trail tucked me under its wing and led the way. I would not have made it to Tarkye Gyang without help from countless people along the way lending me a hand.
I arrived at the guesthouse in Tarkye Gyang in the late afternoon, only to discover my friend had not made it yet. Convincing myself I was in the wrong place entirely but too exhausted to do anything about it I threw my bag down and went in search of water. A few minutes later I heard my friend through the door, and too my relief she had made it only ten minutes after me. Utterly exhausted to the bone, all we could do was lie down in the middle of the floor to catch our breath and tell stories from our day.
Relieved to have finished the most difficult leg of the trek, we spent the evening chatting with people in the guesthouse before retiring early for the night. In the morning we felt refreshed and revitalized, ready to tackle our fifth day on the trail; heading to Kakani, an alternate route back to Kathmandu. Since we had completed the trek much earlier than most, in a short five days rather than eight, we were prepared to hit the trails hard and make it back to Kathmandu the next day.
Day 5:
An early start under our belts, we started the slow climb down to Kakani, through the town Sermatang at around 2620m. With the adrenaline rush of being in the final stretch of the trek, we breezed through our last full day, braving a rain and hail storm to reach Kakani early in the day. TO our surprise, we came across quite a miraculous sight upon arrival; camped out in the middle of town-which consisted of no more than five houses-mingled a large group of people. Thinking we were approaching a wedding, and not wanting to disturb, we approached with caution. We soon discovered that we had in fact stumbled upon the first meeting held by the Cancer Society of Nepal, in Kakani, ever.
Women huddled in groups on faded grass, girls sat shyly together holding hands, and the doctors mingled around chatting with us as we looked on in awe. The Cancer Society traveled all the way from Chitwan National Park, along with doctors from Kathmandu, to meet in Kakani to provide free consultations and screening for the people of this town. Located at the school house in the classrooms, the doctors and nurses provided eye examinations, lung tests, and even mammograms and pap smears. This was the first time anyone living in this town had ever been tested for any of this. Eighty year old women were lined up to get their first pap smear.
According to the doctors, cervical cancer is the number one disease in women in Nepal, which is cause by; early childbirth, early sexual experiences, smoking, cleanliness, nutrition, and HPV. It was hard for me to imagine going through this examination for the first time in my life at the age of fifty, or eighty, or even thirty. The prevalence of cataracts in this region is also very high, and we were told that 15 out of the 75 women develop cataracts, which are caused predominantly by smoke in the home. Most families living in the villages surrounding the valley cook all meals around open fires in their homes, while billowing smoke surround the room and their lungs. There are no cancer awareness campaigns in Nepal, and we were all surprised to see many of the women light up cigarettes after their screenings. The founder of the Cancer Society Nepal, who began the organization after his son, died of leukemia a few years back, told us the women cannot afford clean water, they often cannot afford adequate food, but they can always afford cigarettes.
This was one of the most powerful experiences on our five day trek, and although I could not communicate with many of the women, we quickly broke down barriers simply by interacting with them and showing our support and interest. I am consistently amazed by the stunning beauty of women in Nepal, and their sheer determination in all the challenges they face.
Did I forget to mention that we had a dance party with the entire village of Kakani. Erin and I planned out my life to move into the village, learn Sherpa and Nepali, and teach English. Just livin the dream. There was some famous Nepali singer making an appearance, who not only loved to listen to his own voice, but actually played a video of him performing. This might have been the most crackin night of the year in this town. So naturally Erin and I went big, put on our dancing shoes -oh wait, I was still wearing my hiking shoes, clothes, bandana..you know the works, lookin real good - and got down with the village girls. No joke, it was me, my friend Erin and like six fourteen year old girls dancing the night away, while the older women sat and watched. I tried to keep my distance from the flock of men dancing who somehow thought I was actually a belly dancer. Right.
Day 6:
Feeling great from our last night stay in Kakani, the walk back to Malemchi Pul Bazaar proved to be more difficult than we expected, but regardless the trail was beautiful and we were greeted time and again by smiling friendly faces willing to show the way. Descending to lower a lower elevation than Kathmandu, we carried our tired bodies to the bus stand to catch what we thought was a quick three hour ride back to Kathmandu. Unfortunately, the bus ride turned out to be the long route and we were stuck on the bus for five hours. However, we were still reluctant to return to the rain showers of Kathmandu and leave the beautiful mountain surroundings of Helambu.
I wrote off trekiing when I first arrived in Nepal, but after completing my first oneI know for certain is the first of many to come. This trek was one of the most challenging, empowering, and spectacular weeks of my life, and something I will truly never forget. If you have any reservations about trekking, put those immediately aside lace up your hiking boots and hit the trails. You will not regret it.
Lastly, if you are considering using a guide or a porter on any of the treks, please respect their livelihood and make sure they are receiving proper pay, equipment, and meals. For more information on how you can ensure they receive the best care, check out the website Porters’ Progress. While this organization is no longer up and running, the website is still available and provides very helpful information in choosing the right company, as well as fair treatment of porters. Furthermore, let’s do our best to keep this beautiful country clean, and practice environmental consciousness while you are on the trail. Leave no trace, and pack away all materials. Boiled water is available at all the guesthouses to reduce plastics; iodine tablets are another option and can be purchased at any trekking store in Thamel. So hit the trails and enjoy the beautiful Himalayas!
SO maybe you really are all wondering, why the efff am I still online, and why do I seem to appear on here ALL the time.
Well the answer my friends is this, inevitably I am about to begin facing the difficulty of employment/housing/money/life decisions back in the good ol' US of A. So naturally, rather than spend the all the time I should job searching and CV updating and all that fun stuff; I usually just get sucked into the black hole of google, staring blankly at the page for 15 minutes before I actually remember what I was supposed to look for, or I wind up on FB looking at my sisters friends cousins boyfriends baby mamas photos...I mean, actually I never creep around on there, right? normal.
So maybe this is just an SOS, from me to you, and let me explain why. If I compiled a list of all the jobs I am seriously considering (have maybe already applied for) you will understand my desperation. This list goes as such:
Laundry room attendant
Garden and Grounds Keeper
Librarian (this was my favorite when I found out a) librarians make BANK and b) you need a masters degree in well, librarian...ism? I know the alphabet, who says that's not good enough?!
Merry Maids, yes I actually looked.
on a craigslist posting, "work 2 days a week as a mermaid/fairy/princess" um YES, please. how did they know, that's what I was made to be?
cafe(teria) attendant, yes my friends.
Jewish Egg Donor. I may have that Jewish look, you know my frizzy curls and all, but no I am not, and yes I would still consider it.
African American Moms Needed...wait a second, Ok I got carried away.
So, as you can see...this is what my life will resort to in a few short months, as I jump ship and return to the glorious land of opportunities, with that well earned college degree that's come in real handy these days. Not that there is anything wrong with any of these jobs, somebody has to do it right, and my hat is off to the hard working people that do. I guess I just had my hopes set on something more glamorous, but that is well, obviously not going to happen in the midst of the biggest GLOBAL economic recession. Goody.
Not to mention, this morning I woke up in a stupor, probably the result of drinking too much whiskey apple drinks the night before, but also because I came to this realization....I will be SO cheap/broke when I get to the States, that probably none of you will want to hang out with me, and if you do, I will probably have to meet you on the corner, yes around the corner, from the bar you will all be hanging out at, while I brown bag a 2 dollar Tecate, because I can't afford to pay 10 big ones for a decent beer. The aftermath of spending a year in the subcontinent drinking 600 ml shit beer for 100 rupes, or the equivalent size of three bears for $1.20, you have got to be kidding me. Of all the injustices in the world, surely, the skyrocketing cost of beer in the US is one of them, am I right? hah. But oh how I long for a nice cold New Castle, or Blue Moon with a slice of Orange, or Chimay, or even Stella, or Corona, or Pyramid, or Anchor Steam...seriously, I have thought about it a lot. Like, really a lot.
So, needless to say, this SOS is for anyone who actually reads this, and who might just have a garden that needs weeding (like the time in high school when I weeded my friend Jenna's parents garden, and probably made big bucks back in the day!) a baby that needs sitting, a dog that needs walking, a window that needs to be cleaned, etc. You get the picture, I think. I will probably do most anything for some hard earned cash, because as many of you might think my adventures are crazy, I am already scheming up another one. And yes, I am not even back yet.
Thanks for reading my loyal friends, I know who you are....
btw. I am off for my first trek into the wilderness of Nepal tomorrow. yippeee. So if you don't hear another cry for help from me, in T minus 6 days, report to the US embassy of Kathmandu. Could not be more excited to get out of this smoggy smog filled city and romp through the wild for a few, much needed, days!
I found this article featured on One World South Asia, derived from BBC. I was recently talking to a co-worker about this practice, and was astonished to hear that this is actively happening, and people really believe in this Chhaupadi, or confinement. whaaa??
Confining new mothers and women during their monthly menstrual cycles remains a widespread practice in Nepal. This old tradition of chhaupadi, followed out of fear, forces seclusion upon women in unhygienic conditions. But change is gradually coming with several voices calling for an end to this ostracisation.
Dadeldhura, Nepal: In the darkness, a 10-day-old baby boy wails. It is midday, but the infant has not been allowed out of this special room, separate from the rest of the house, since being brought home after birth.
Basanti Devi, a new mother kept in confinement/ Photo credit: BBC
Only his young mother, Basanti Devi Bhul, can touch him. She goes out a little but cannot touch anybody else because until the 11th day after the birth, society considers her to be unclean. "I'm not doing any work," she says.
"I just eat dry bread, green vegetables and rice - no lentils or meat. I can't touch any pots or pans or go into the main house. I just go out to wash myself and my clothes, that's all," Bhul adds.
This practice of confinement, known as chhaupadi, extends also to women during their monthly period.
Some sort of confinement during menstruation is common in this and other societies. But here in western Nepal it takes extreme forms, with a woman sometimes restricted to dirty cow-shed or other special huts.
"I wish someone else could come and look after my child when he cries. I wish the system could be abolished"
Extreme confinement was outlawed by Nepal's Supreme Court three years ago, but continues to be widespread.
Custom defended
The room where Basanti Devi rocks her baby is musty, airless and dark. Out in the yard her relatives and neighbours can be heard laughing. To get into her room, one needs to come in through an outer shed, where logs and wooden ploughs lie piled, into a very dark inner shed where there is just a single stream of light coming in from the door.
"I wish I were freer to roam around," she says. "I wish someone else could come and look after my child when he cries. I wish the system could be abolished."
The village of Dil, where she lives, is a steep two-hour climb from the road which snakes through these hills.
It is a place with breathtaking views and closely packed houses of clay or stone. On the walls hang banners in support of the Maoists, the former rebels now leading the government.
Every house here practices the chhaupadi system. It is a tradition that Basanti Devi's mother-in-law, Durga Devi Sarki, defends.
"Our god will be angry if we don't do this," she says. "She is a nursing mother so how can she cook? Everyone around here does this, so we do, too. If she eats normal food she'll get sick," Sarki says.
In another village a similarly confined young mother, Padma Devi Deuba says, "I believe that if I take my child outside he will be sick and God will be angry," she says. "It is quite difficult, but it is our system."
Their accommodation is often insanitary, shared with cattle and their excrement and sometimes some distance from a village
It is the same when she has her period. "I can't go inside or cook anything for five days," she says.
"If I touch anyone, it will be a sin." But there is uneasiness in her. She believes in it; yet she, too, says she would like it eradicated.
'Grim consequences'
The related beliefs vary. Some people in western Nepal think a new mother or a menstruating woman will bring bad luck on a whole household if she stays in the main house; or that she can make cow's milk into blood.
Basanti Devi was kept in a shed underneath this house/ Photo credit: BBC
Their accommodation is often insanitary, shared with cattle and their excrement and sometimes some distance from a village. It tends to be unventilated and cramped. And the consequences of chhaupadi can be grim.
Last summer a 15-year-old girl died of diarrhoea she contracted while sleeping alone in a shed. No one wanted to take her to a health post.
In the biggest hospital in Far Western Region, senior doctor Ganesh Bahadur Singh says chhaupadi has a definite detrimental effect. Speaking of mothers with newborn infants, he says, "At this period the mother and child should have good nutrition and everything.
"They want care, love, everything. [But] the surroundings, their personal hygiene, they all invite the infection. They will cause fever… The mothers in this situation - they are more anaemic, they don't have the blood."
Reform push
Change is happening. Many parents say they would take the younger women to the clinic in an emergency. Women are declaring they do not like the practice, and in Dil village, so too is Basanti Devi's husband, Ganesh.
His activism in the Maoist party has opened his eyes to the need for change. He wants to see the chhaupadi system abolished.
Thanks to campaigns, the actual sites of confinement are at least improving in this district
"I broke the rules," he says. "I carried our child back from the health post where he was born and then entered the main house despite my parents' protests. I do touch my child.
"I wanted to give normal food to my wife but I couldn't go that far against my parents' wishes. We can't change everything at once. It has to be gradual."
Devaki Shahi agrees. She works for a local charity, the Rural Women's Development and Unity Centre, and travels around advocating change. She speaks from experience, having been confined after her own son's birth.
Thanks to campaigns by her and others, the actual sites of confinement are at least improving in this district.
If sheds are used, they're likely to be cleaner, less likely to be shared with animals. The women get better food too. But fear keeps this tradition alive.
"If someone breaks the practice and her child falls ill, people say it's because they didn't observe chhaupadi," says Devaki Shahi.
"In one village local people destroyed some of the confinement sheds. Someone hurt his leg in the process and everyone said it was because he was doing a bad thing."
So Basanti Devi still needs to go to a special tap, outside the village, to wash, away from all her neighbours.
On the 11th day her confinement will end. A priest will perform a blessing, and take her child and point his head towards the sun for the first time.
Then he will throw flour and rice on her - and make her "pure".
An article featured in the NY Times....Thought you might be interested to read about the place I am fascinated by.
As Indian growth soars, child hunger persists By Somini Sengupta The New York Times Friday, March 13, 2009
Small, sick, listless children have long been India's scourge — "a national shame," in the words of its prime minister, Manmohan Singh. But even after a decade of galloping economic growth, child malnutrition rates are worse here than in many sub-Saharan African countries, and they stand out as a paradox in a proud democracy.
China, that other Asian economic powerhouse, sharply reduced child malnutrition, and now just 7 percent of its children under 5 are underweight, a critical gauge of malnutrition. In India, by contrast, despite robust growth and good government intentions, the comparable number is 42.5 percent. Malnutrition makes children more prone to illness and stunts physical and intellectual growth for a lifetime.
There are no simple explanations. Economists and public health experts say stubborn malnutrition rates point to a central failing in this democracy of the poor. Amartya Sen, the Nobel prize-winning economist, lamented that hunger was not enough of a political priority here. India's public expenditure on health remains low, and in some places, financing for child nutrition programs remains unspent.
Yet several democracies have all but eradicated hunger. And ignoring the needs of the poor altogether does spell political peril in India, helping to topple parties in the last elections. For now, politicians seem more focused on the general issue of inequality than hunger.
Other experts point to the efficiency of an authoritarian state like China. In India, a sluggish and sometimes corrupt state has only haltingly put in place relatively simple solutions — iodizing salt, for instance, or making sure all children are immunized against preventable diseases — to say nothing of its progress on the harder tasks, like changing what and how parents feed their children. Yet as China itself grew more prosperous, it has had its own struggles with health care, as the government safety net has shredded with its adoption of a more market-driven economy.
While India runs the largest child feeding program in the world, experts agree it is inadequately designed, and has made barely a dent in the ranks of sick children in the past 10 years.
The $1.3 billion Integrated Child Development Services program, India's primary effort to combat malnutrition, finances a network of soup kitchens in urban slums and villages.
But most experts agree that providing adequate nutrition to pregnant women and children under 2 years old is crucial — and the Indian program has not homed in on them adequately. Nor has it succeeded in sufficiently changing child feeding and hygiene practices. Many women here remain in ill health and are ill fed; they are prone to giving birth to low-weight babies and tend not to be aware of how best to feed them.
A tour of Jahangirpuri, a slum in this richest of Indian cities, put the challenge on stark display. Shortly after daybreak, in a rented room along a narrow alley, an all-female crew prepared giant vats of savory rice and lentil porridge.
Purnima Menon, a public health researcher with the International Food Policy Research Institute, was relieved to see it was not just starch; there were even flecks of carrots thrown in. The porridge was loaded onto bicycle carts and ferried to nurseries that vet and help at-risk children and their mothers throughout the neighborhood.
So far, so good. Except that at one nursery — known in Hindi as an anganwadi — the teacher was a no-show. At another, there were no children; instead, a few adults sauntered up with their lunch pails. At a third, the nursery worker, Brij Bala, said that 13 children and 13 lactating mothers had already come to claim their servings, and that now she would have to fill the bowls of whoever came along, neighborhood aunties and all. "They say, 'Give us some more,' so we have to," Bala confessed. "Otherwise, they will curse us."
None of the centers had a working scale to weigh children and identify the vulnerable ones, a crucial part of the nutrition program.
Most important from Menon's point of view, the nurseries were largely missing the needs of those most at risk: children under 2, for whom the feeding centers offered a dry ration of flour and ground lentils, containing none of the micronutrients a vulnerable infant needs.
In a memorandum prepared in February, the Ministry of Women and Child Development acknowledged that while the program had yielded some gains in the past 30 years, "its impact on physical growth and development has been rather slow." The report recommended fortifying food with micronutrients and educating parents on how to better feed their babies.
A World Food Program report last month noted that India remained home to more than a fourth of the world's hungry, 230 million people in all. It also found anemia to be on the rise among rural women of childbearing age in eight states across India. Indian women are often the last to eat in their homes and often unlikely to eat well or rest during pregnancy. Menon's institute, based in Washington, recently ranked India below two dozen sub-Saharan countries on its Global Hunger Index.
Childhood anemia, a barometer of poor nutrition in a lactating mother's breast milk, is three times higher in India than in China, according to a 2007 research paper from the institute.
The latest Global Hunger Index described hunger in Madhya Pradesh, a destitute state in central India, as "extremely alarming," ranking the state somewhere between Chad and Ethiopia.
More surprising, though, it found that "serious" rates of hunger persisted across Indian states that had posted enviable rates of economic growth in recent years, including Maharashtra and Gujarat.
Here in the capital, which has the highest per-capita income in the country, 42.2 percent of children under 5 are stunted, or too short for their age, and 26 percent are underweight. A few blocks from the Indian Parliament, tiny, ill-fed children turn somersaults for spare change at traffic signals.
Back in Jahangirpuri, a dead rat lay in the courtyard in front of Bala's nursery. The narrow lanes were lined with scum from the drains. Malaria and respiratory illness, which can be crippling for weak, undernourished children, were rampant. Neighborhood shops carried small bags of potato chips and soda, evidence that its residents were far from destitute.
In another alley, Menon met a young mother named Jannu, a migrant from the northern town of Lucknow. Jannu said she found it difficult to produce enough milk for the baby in her arms, around 6 months old. His green, watery waste dripped down his mother's arms. He often has diarrhea, Jannu said, casually rinsing her arm with a tumbler of water.
Menon could not help but notice how small Jannu was, like so many of Jahangirpuri's mothers. At 5 feet 2 inches tall, Menon towered over them. Children who were roughly the same age as her own daughter were easily a foot shorter. Stunted children are so prevalent here, she observed, it makes malnutrition invisible.
"I see a system failing," Menon said. "It is doing something, but it is not solving the problem."
As many of you ask lately, since this has become a normal question for me, "How are those monkeys treatin you?" Well I thought I would update ya'll on the happenings at my abode.
The monkeys are back in full force!
It has almost become a regular occurrence, of sorts, around here. I feel like almost everyday I have a sighting of the monkeys at least.
Last week - who knows what day it was because time doesn't really exist here-I was in the shower, singing at the top of my lungs like usual, and I started to hear some noises. Telling myself to just enjoy this window of luke warm shower water, I thought nothing of it and kept singing. Our walls are pretty thin, so usually you can hear some odd noises coming from the flats above and below us. As I stepped out of the shower, my hair dripping wet onto the floor and my body covered in a skimpy travel towel I am using, I saw two monkeys sitting in my kitchen! Sitting there like nobodies business, there they were, just chillin and munching on my ripe tomatoes.
Freaked out of course, I ran into the bathroom looking for a weapon. Finding nothing, I grabbed a window cleaner and flung it into the kitchen. Using my best yelling voice I tried telling them to get the f$%* out of my house. Do monkeys really listen to a girl wearing a towel? NO is the answer.And you all know my loudest yelling voice, is well, probably not very loud.
So there they sat chomping away, while I continued to drip water on the floor and yell. They finally started to move a little bit, and as I ran back into the bathroom to hide I peeked through the window that is directly opposite to the kitchen window. One of them looked me right in the eye, grabbed a bag of chips, shook its tail and slowly meandered back out the window. Like, "yea I own this. These are my chips, thank you very much."
I slammed all the windows, but to my horror, they still wanted to hang out. Sitting right outside my window on the ledge below, there they were playing in a pile of flour and still eating tomatoes.
They eventually migrated to the trees, and continued spilling our food all over the place. My friend, who had come over right in the middle of my mayhem as I ran around the house in a towel, decided we should throw stuff at them. Stuff, meaning the food they had strewn around my kitchen floor. With our sharp shooter aim we started chucking more tomatoes at them. One literally sat there, and with his tail upright put his paw in the air and made the, come hither motion. As if saying, yea that's right, bring it on. Totally provoking us. Can you believe that?
After this incident, and since I was home alone for this once, has left me a little bit on edge...like insomnia, and nightmares where I wake up in the middle of the night screaming MONKEY. I might be kidding, but really. I took a nap the other afternoon, and woke up after the sun had gone down. So waking up in the middle of the load shedding hours (power cut) to a pitch dark house, I could hear some noises in the kitchen. Thinking my roommate was gone for the evening, panic mode switched on. I convinced myself that she had the window open again, and that the monkeys were back causing a ruckus. I lit a candle, and just as they would do in the dark ages, slowly poked my head through the door practically on all fours, and ready to throw hot candle wax into their eyes. My heart was thumping out of my chest, and I was about to pounce...when I realized it was my roommate cooking dinner.
She was so quite and stealthy with the pots and pans, I could have sworn it was a monkey. Too embarrassed to tell her, I quickly stood upright and smoothed my nap-py hair aside, and greeted her as if nothing had happened.
Is this the kind of paranoia that starts to creep in when you have been living alone too long with 37 cats? Like that crazy cat lady who goes on edge anytime she thinks someone might be there to catnap one of her babies. I'm not like that, right?......right?
So yes, I have monkeys in my tree, monkeys in my kitchen, and monkeys in my flour.
That's it. I swear I'm getting a slingshot.
On the night of the full moon, Holi came and went with a bang, or more importantly a bhang, the Nepali/Indian version of ghanja food, aka trouble. If you arrived in Kathmandu this morning, you have to look closely to find the remnants of such lively celebrations, like the traces of brightly colored tikka powder strewn on sidewalks. Purples, oranges, blues, and pinks sprinkle the streets in a trail of memories; bright orange puddles of water trickles down from the edges of buildings; an occasional flash of bright pink remains on the shoe laces of a little boy. There is a sense of elation floating around the city as people go about their days, as Holi has become a well hidden secret revealing itself only in the child like smiles of people as they think about the day before.
Life was put on hold as the streets of Kathmandu came to life in the celebration of the Festival of Colors. Planning to stay inside for the day and enjoy a nice rooftop barbecue, I was unsure of what to expect from this Hindu holiday. I was told the festivities could get pretty rowdy, and being a single white woman, I would easily become a target for rough housing. Not very enthused by this prospect, cozying up on a sunny rooftop, away from the chaos, seemed like my best option.
I could not have been more wrong. Making a quick trip to the corner fruit market, I asked my roommate if she thought I would get hit on my way out, she said no. So I proceeded with caution out of the confines of my safe haven, and began the five minute walk around the corner. I made it inside the market, narrowly escaping a few water balloons, but felt safe when I sat down to wait for some fresh squeezed orange juice. Again, I was wrong. Two friends rounded the corner, and seeing my clean, dry outfit and freshly washed hair, I could tell by their mischievous looks that I was not safe. In the span of about two minutes, I was completely drenched and had made a mess on the small concrete floor in the juice shop. Not to mention, the brunch breakfast I was skipping out on, was replaced by a trash bag filled with bhang treats. In this case, some sort of donut hole, not even important other than being, well DELICIOUS. To quell my hunger and continue the day, naturally I started nibbling on these treats and probably lost count after at least FIVE. whoops. So the day goes on.
Ready to surrender myself to the day, we prepared our own Holi festivities to start off right; covering ourselves from head to foot in a rainbow of colored powder. We even going as far to make a mixture of gold and silver combined with hair gel to make some face paint. Clearly done with the idea of staying clean and away from the celebrations, I was already gung ho and ready to commit to the long day ahead of me. Next on the itinerary was creating our own Holi war zone, otherwise known as the “bike workshop,” where most of the people I was with work.
Armed with bags of water balloons, and the more popular clear baggies that pose as water balloons, we set up camp between the motorcycles and tools to begin our self inflicted battle. Posted up by the water spout we all took turns on duty, filling up the bags. Occasionally a rebel in the bunch would fill up an entire bucket of water searching for a victim, and then pour the entire cruddy cold contents on their head. After thoroughly drenching each other, and everyone having turned a shade of purple, green or pink, it was time for the most exciting part of the day.
But first, let me explain something else that happens during Holi. From my observations many of the older women, watch and participate in Holi from the rooftops. The men and younger rebellious boys parade the streets in large packs, like wolves hunting a fox, and roam the city looking for targets. While we were slowly filling our secret stashes of water balloons, there was a woman perched up on the high flying rooftop across the street from our little game. With a stern look and savage frown, she was full heartedly filling up her buckets of water, and flinging them as far as they would go, to drench us and any passersby. She peeked her head around the corner every once and a while, and then would return with a full bucket and look of vengeance. I could only imagine her hiding on the roof laughing with her friends. A few of the men, as manly as they think they are, tried to launch water balloons up to her rooftop, but with no such luck. We were no match for her precision and skill, something she must have been practicing every Holi for many years. In my state of bhang, I may have said "I love you!" and probably a few times, good thing she was far away.
Next comes the best part of the day. A movie like motorcycle ride around Kathmandu. There were about twenty of us in total, so that makes for a quite a scene on the streets. I have ridden a motorcycle quite a few times in my day, but needless to say, I have never ridden a motorcycle through Kathmandu, during Holi. What an experience!
Everyone already had their designated drivers at hand. I was told I could ride with one guy, but there was somebody already waiting, to say in Nepali, “seytes taken.” That’s what I imagined him saying in my head, anyway. As if racing the other guy who was strapping on a seat no bigger than a match stick (that would surely not fit my ass) with a rope, I was thinking, Lord have mercy, there is no way I am riding three to a bike on that thing! So without saying another word, they pull a double seat out of thin air and immediately begin adjusting the motorbike, to you know, just whip it on there. Well all in all, those handy boys got it worked out and in no time I was hopping on the back of the double seat.
This was the most fun I have had in ages, and I think I literally at one point yelled out "THIS IS SO AWESOME!" My cheeks were stretched wide the hole day. I felt like a puppy with it's head out the window on the freeway. Not to mention that about half way through the ride, I really did take my hair down, and I may or may not have done a few hair whips, to feel the wind against my neck, of course. I was nervous at first about getting my hair colored, but immediately on the bike I started to feel like a new person. Who knows, maybe it was those donut holes speaking.
Every single street was teeming with people. Young boys proudly marched the streets, faces painted in silver, red, and black; confidently traipsing around and shouting, “Happy Holi,” as we flitted past. Buckets of water were thrown from rooftops to greet our already died hair; people with baggies filled with colored powder poured them out hoping the wind would whip it onto our speeding motorbikes.
All through the day, hundreds of people participated; balloons and buckets of water were launched from rooftops, and pounds of powder flew through the air; on every street corner and every alley way, hordes of people wandered the streets covered head to toe in the bright colors of the eighties; there were even a few stray dogs suffering from the layer of green or orange dotting their noses.
So after skirting around town making a scene on our motorcycles, and ya it felt pretty bad ass (I won't mention that I might have ripped the guys shirt who shared his bike with me, not because I was trying to rip it off but because I was gripping it so tightly.)We had to go to a friends dinner party, who I have met one time. As you can already tell, I was in no way shape or form fit to mingle with strangers. Naturally, I camped out at the food table, and my only meal of the day having previously been bhang donuts, I probably ate ten samosa and a can of pringles.The only semi cute guy at the party, or in Nepal from my observations, walked in on me in the bathroom trying to wash my hands in the shower, which I had turned on full blast, because I couldn't turn the sink on. He said, "UH, you just have to use the bucket with water under the sink." Like, duh you dummy, anyone could figure that out. Well, apparently I couldn't.So much for putting myself out there and meeting new people in Nepal. Apparently, I really can't hang.
Holi celebrates the coming of spring and the triumph of good over evil, but it is also a time to forget the daily grind, and just play. Holi brings people together, from every caste, career, village, household, and gender, building bridges between societal and cultural gaps; everyone is welcome to join in the fun. By far one of my favorite days in Nepal, if you ever get a chance to visit a Hindu country during this time, you must do it! And there you have it my friends, my new favorite holiday of all time. I really am a big advocate for cultural immersion and all, but why not implement this in the states? Can you imagine cruising around San Francisco, or Seattle, on bicycle, throwing colored powder on everyone? One word for that; amazing. I know Holi exists in certain pockets of the United States where big Indian populations live, but I'm sure there is nothing to this scale, obviously. Ah I wish all of you could have been here for this, what an amazing day.
*this is what I wrote for work. You can see what I added on here, in color. some extra flavor.
As the seasons turn in the land of the Shiva worshippers, Shaivites, trickle from places near and far to visit the holiest of holy temples in Kathmandu, Pashupatinath. This holy festival ascends on the 14th night of the new moon during the Hindu month of Phalgun, equivalent to our English months February or March. For newcomers to Kathmandu, this holiday appears to transform the Capital city into a giant carnival. The streets surrounding Pashupati fill up into far reaching neighborhoods spilling at the seams, as if Woodstock prevailed in Kathmandu.
Mahashivaratri is a widely celebrated Hindu festival in honor of the God Shiva, who encompasses the three principles of creator, destroyer, and preserver. As a God representative of both good and evil, the Shiva worshippers known as Shaivites, take this celebratory occasion very seriously. Thousands of Hindu’s travel from around the globe to visit Pashupati, considered one of the holiest Hindu temples in the world. People come to celebrate, to perform puja and give offerings to Shiva, and to partake in the ritual worshipping.
There are different beliefs in how Shivaratri began, and why it takes place on this specific day. Many believe it celebrates the day Lord Shiva wed the Goddess Parvati. Others believe it was the auspicious night when Shiva performed Tandara, which is the dance of creation, prescription, and destruction. Another common belief is this commemorates the day when Shiva was manifested in the form of the Shiva Lingam. Regardless of how the holiday began, all Hindus believe in strict worship during this time.
Shivaratri is considered very auspicious, especially for women. Married women pray for their husbands, and single women pray for their future husbands to be like Lord Shiva. Shaivites adhere to a strict fasting schedule, from sunup till sundown during the holiday. Some eat only fruits, and many refrain from even drinking water.
Another essential aspect of the worshipping Shiva is practicing Puja. The Shiva Lingam, which is replicated throughout the temples at Pashupati, is bathed in an assortment of decorations which represent different virtues. For example, milk equals the purity of the soul, fruits signify longevity and gratification, and incense represents wealth. Hindus believe if strict worshipping is followed, they will be absolved from all sins.
Approaching Pashupati on this holy day, smoke billows from the temples into the sky; creating a haunting mist that floats over the Bagmati River below. Throngs of people congregate at every turn, sitting high in the hills, and between the temples. A line wraps around the river bank, weaving between temples; Hindu’s awaiting their turn to enter the temple and pray to Shiva. Rice kernels, flower petals, and vibrantly colored tika powder is strewn about, mimicking the everyday Puja on a massive scale.
Shivaratri is not only a time for worship, prayer, and spirituality but is also a time to witness the Holy Sadhu men, from miles around, converge in one place, and celebrate the significance of the God Shiva embedded in Hinduism. There are two types of Sadhus in Hinduism; Shaiva Sadhus, and Vaishna Sadhus. Shivaratri is significant for this reason, because Shaiva Sadhus are devoted to worshipping Lord Shiva.
The Sadhu men, also known as Baba’s, encompass the fourth and final stage of life in Hinduism, which is moksha or liberation. Throughout Asia, and specifically in India and Nepal, the Baba’s live on the fringes of cities; they dwell in temples, caves, and some in far reached mountain sides. Sadhus pledge a life of simplicity, giving up all material possessions. There is a certain part of Pashupati which is devoted to the Sadhus, where they are able to squat and live, and use the space as a place of worship and meditation. During Shivaratri, the Sadhus gather in abundance to practice their life’s commitment of worshipping Shiva.
If it is your visit to Nepal during this time, Shivaratri is definitely a holiday you do not want to miss out on. However, if you are a single traveling female, I would highly recommend finding a male friend to go with you. While we like to believe we are strong single females, I would not recommend going to this event alone. So grab your 6’3 body builder friends, and saddle up.
As in many places, when the crowds grow to capacity, it is inevitable you will be making your way through densely crowded areas. The majority of which are young Nepali males and during this holiday, many are influenced by a mind altering substance. If you are comfortable with bringing a large handbag or water bottle, and not afraid to flail it around a bit if things get out of hand, then you should be fine. I would not recommend going alone at night or after dark, and be prepared to be groped if you pass through a crowd. While these circumstances are unfortunate, we must be aware of the cultural differences, and magnitude of the religious rituals. While keeping this in mind, it is best to be respectful local customs while visiting the Hindu temples. The main Hindu temple is restricted to only Hindu’s. It is still very important to dress conservatively, and take the appropriate measures in ensuring your own safety but also the dignity of your surroundings.
A girl I work with, she is my age and beautiful, intelligent, and hardworking; she is getting married this week. She met her soon to husband last week. Yes, one week ago. Now, they are to be wed in a ceremony that will last days. So in honor of International Women's Day, which is March 8th-and I urge all of you to find out what events are happening in your cities- I thought I would bring this to your attention. Again, something that is on my mind lately.
So first, let me tell you a little about what has been happening in Nepal lately, on a regular basis. It is wedding season. The funny thing is, I could swear it was wedding season when I arrived, wedding season when I will leave, and wedding season far into the monsoons that sweep over Nepal. While I love weddings-maybe not my own but all the other ones-this is something I am feeling a little conflicted over, and this phenomenon is not simply restricted to Nepal but is happening in many marginalized places. That is, arranged marriages. Yes, they are still happening. To women, girls, and children the world over. There is no choice involved, other than the choice of the bride and grooms parents, in choosing the appropriate mate for their daughters and sons.
Everyday women and men are wed, who are nothing more than strangers. Maybe they have met over coffee, tea, or a family arranged meal; but usually, and if the wedding is devoid of any courtship, these two people are joined in holy matrimony with someone they have barely exchanged words with.
Women younger than teenagers, are wed to men twice their age. Outdated in wrinkles and red paan stains, they take their blushing brides home as a prized possession.
While love marriages are on the up and up and more common today, from what I have gathered arranged marriage still take the cake. For me, at the ripe old age of 24, I can barely even think about my own wedding, not only do I break out in a cold sweat and feel like running away (and yes I'm exaggerating, I'm not that terrified of commitment) I just can't fathom being forced into a marriage for cultural, religious, and familial reasons; in which maybe the only voice I have, is in choosing the color of my sari.
Can you imagine just for a second, if you never knew how it felt to be in love. If you were married to someone you simply learned to like, and maybe if you are lucky, learn to love. If you are committed to someone for your life, who you may or may not ever enjoy sleeping with. Committed to someone enough to bear their children, but never have the kind of support you need to raise them.
I know, who am I to judge this culture and ancient tradition, especially when I am only scraping the very surface of understanding anything that goes on. It just seems tragic to me, that in so much of the world, not just women, but millions of people lack something we so take for granted; CHOICE. I know it is not my place to pose an argument, or even say how it makes me feel, so I guess this is best I can do for now. Since when did blogs start to get so personal? I just wonder, do these couples who go through life in a marriage they did not necessarily choose out of love or lust, but out of the confines of religious beliefs, is it possible to really be in love?
what does everyone think about all this? I really am curious...
I did not know what community meant until I lived in El Salvador in 2006. It is baffling to think this semester abroad, a period of just four months, was already three years ago. Traveling and living abroad this time around (this is the first time I have left the US since I was in Central America) in the Asian subcontinent, has provided it's own challenges and complex issues. However, I consistently catch myself thinking of events from the semester long ago. I remember during orientation the first week we arrived in San Salvador, meeting the new faces we would spend every waking minute with, and going through the usual welcoming ice breakers. Someone told us that we would arrive in El Salvador with our hearts open, and we would leave with our hearts broken. I was unsure of what those words meant at the time, but it is something I constantly come back to in my mind. In a way, I do believe I was broken, possibly into a million pieces, and I have slowly been working to put those back together. The biggest challenge has been finding a sense of community, at home in San Francisco, at home in Seattle, and now abroad on my own. It is a lot easier said than done. these new experiences are completely different and of their own, many things remain the same. The stark contrast between the marginalized poor and the elitist wealthy classes. Not to mention, the caste system deeply ingrained in Asian culture. Yet time and again, I am drawn back to the memories and people I shared my time with in Central America.
It is hard not to compare everything to the CASA because it was so wonderful, in that earth shattering sort of way, but I also think it has something to do with the stagnat feeling this internship has been giving me. Each and every day in El Salvador felt so full, so life giving, emotional, and connected. I have found those things in Nepal, but on a much smaller scale and at much shorter intervals. My question is this: How do we find thing to do so that everyday feels full...fulfilling?
I found these photos on a website I set up way back when, and it was almost like uncovering buried treasure. It's also interesting to look at photos taken from the person I was then, in comparison to the more recent photos I have been compiling on this trip. Maybe this time was really meant for me to finally grow out of the adolescent shell I protected myself in for years on end. Maybe I think about El Salvador because that was beginning of great changes in my life. Maybe I needed a combination of a great community living environment then, and a solo journey now.
I love Nepal. I love India. I love that we can eat food with our hands. I love how beautiful and warm the people are. I love the indescribable breathtaking landscapes. I love the contrast of dark chocolate skin and vibrant saris. I love hearing new languages; Hindi, Nepali, Tamil, Marathi, Newari, Gujarati. I love the mountains. But I still sometimes feel as though I am not on the right continent. I have tried learning Nepali, and it just is not catching. Spanish on the other hand feels like I was born to speak it, and even now whenever I hear it spoken, even in Nepal, I think my heart skips a beat. Maybe I was born in Latin America in another life. I have been told I look India, Nepali, Mexican, Israeli etc....guess I am somewhat of a chameleon with that anonymous blood in me, but personally I think I look more Latina than Asian. hah. Or maybe that's just wishful thinking. Well these are some long lost photos from the CASA. Someday I'll get back there.
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