It's been over a month since the last time I wrote a blog, and so much has happened since then. I've been to a lot of places, and have had so many new experiences, so I'm excited to share them with you.
On March 16th we went on a field trip to the city of Patan, about 20 minutes away from our program house in Balkot. We were going to visit a school, have a lecture on the state of education in Nepal, and afterwards have another lecture on journalism in Nepal. At first, I was a little overwhelmed that we were going to have two lectures in one day--how would I be able to sit through that? The school's name is Rato Bangala, which means Red House. When we arrived, we walked into a beautiful, large courtyard with kids of all ages running around and playing. We were met by the principal of the school, Milan Dixit, and she was the person who would be giving us the lecture. She started the school with her sister-in-law because they wanted to pave the way for a new kind of education in Nepal. Traditionally, the students would be kept silent in the classroom and the teacher would be the sole giver of information. The child wouldn't be allowed to talk or move around in the classroom, and if she did, then she would be hit with a stick. This kind of environment didn't cultivate a love for learning, for oneself, or for others--and these two women saw that. They created a type of education that is child centered, that lets the child know that he/she is an important part of this world. This type of foundation gives students the confidence to make a difference in their communities, and potentially, the world. Social service is one of the values of the school, and starting from grade one students are required to complete community service hours. They teach art--a subject that some Nepali schools can't afford to teach. Also, the founders recognized the importance of keeping alive Nepali history and culture, and the teacher's lesson plans correlate to that value. Students will go out and make drawings of the temples in Nepal or press their paper against a statue and use a crayon to make an image of that statue on their paper. If students interact with these artifacts when they're young, then they won't destroy them when they get older. Nepali poetry is also taught at this school--and it's an art form that's being lost! Nepali poetry has a rhythm and a melody; it's like a chant, or a song. We had the opportunity to hear the students recite two poems for us--it was so beautiful! I had to stop myself from crying in front of the 5th graders. After the school tour we had a lecture about media and journalism in Nepal--from Milan's husband Kunda! They are an amazing couple. He talked about his experience with journalism during and after the civil war that took place in the 1990s. What touched me the most about his talk was an exhibit he put together of photos from the war. The photos were taken by civilians, and were taken all over the country to be shown. Kunda said that at some places he thought only 200 people would come to the exhibit, but 2000 people would come and soldiers, politicans, Maoists would all look at the photos together. It was a cathartic process for everyone that came. And, amazingly, people in the photos started appearing. They would come to the exhibit and see themselves in the photos. As a result, another exhibit came into being, about the people and their lives now. I hadn't realized the impact of the civil war on Nepal, how much it had shaped the country and it's people. On this day was the first time I became present to where I was, whose country I was in, and what was happening here. I finally became present to what an amazing place I was in, and the amazing people that live and breathe and work in it.
If you'd like to see the photos from the exhibit and learn a little more about the war, you can go to www.apeoplewar.com and view photos.
A few days later I went into Kathmandu to complete an assignment. The assignment was called Critical Encounters and we were supposed to describe an event that really struck us since our time in Nepal, and interview other Nepalis to get their perspective on the situation. For days I had no idea what I would write about! Then I remembered the first time I was in the city, on a tour with my classmates and teachers. As we were walking to a temple, I saw a row of people sitting on the sidewalk. They were in tattered white clothes and had bandages around their hands and feet. When we walked past them, I noticed that some of their fingers and toes were missing, and one man even had a nose missing. I had seen people begging on the streets before, but not like this. I immediately became curious about why they were on the street and not in someone's home, or in a hospital. My topic became about them, called maagne maanchhe in Nepali, and literally translated into "people who ask for things." I first interviewed people around me: my aamaa, my new nepali friend Durga, my teacher. Then I had an idea to actually talk with one of the maagne maanchhe. I was so anxious and nervous. What would they say to me? What would they do? Would they be angry? Finally I just went and did it. I talked with three people, and my most memorable conversation was with a grandmother figure, who had leprosy. When leprosy first broke out in Nepal, there wasn't sufficient medication and people lost limbs. Back then, it was also a taboo to have leprosy, and people were outcasted from their families, which is how many people ended out on the streets. This HajurAamaa, grandmother, told me that she lived with her husband in a small room, and that he also had leprosy. She told me that she uses the money to buy vegetables to cook with, and to pay rent. She was so happy, constantly smiling at me and talking with me. This encounter maybe lasted about 5 minutes, and was still incredibly impacting. The happiness in her eyes gave me a new perspective, and I saw that not all people on the streets were unhappy. Each time I got into Kathmandu, I see one of the women I talked with, and say namaste to her. She smiles at me and knows me, and we talk for a minute and then I'm on my way again. A moment of humanity, for both people, makes such a difference.
There is so much to talk about.
For the past two weeks all of the students and teachers were in a remote village in the east, called Simigaau. This is the hometown of our kitchen staff, and we each stayed with them, or a family member. While I was in Simigaau, I harvested wheat, took my final exams, and became part of a family. As I was leaving, my older sister tried not to cry as we hugged goodbye, something I didn't expect. I hadn't realized the impact I made on my family, and they on me. I started to cry, told her that I love her and would come back to Simigaau.
While I was in Simigaau, I received some sad news about my Kathmandu family. My Nepali father had suddenly died of a heart attack. I was shocked and couldn't believe it. I was so far away, 2 days travel from Kathmandu, and the situation felt so distant. I kept thinking of my aamaa, daai, and bahini and all the emotions they must have been feeling. I was so sad. Even though I didn't interact or talk with my baa that much, I loved him. He was a kind man, would cook meals for his family--something very uncharacteristic of Nepali men. He would lean his head on my aamaa's shoulder and would touch his forehead to our goats' forehead. Each time he smiled, it was a treasure, an image I imprinted into my mind and each time we talked or when he addressed me, I was delighted. In Nepal, there is a 13 day mourning period and the wife and sons dress in white. There are strict rules for food and different ceremonies that are performed throughout the 13days. Today is the 10th day. I've been visiting my family everyday since I got back from the village 3 days ago. It was hard to see my family so sad, and looking so different. I will be living with them once the 13 days are up, and my intention is to be love and of service to them. I love them more than I realize, and for the first time today, realize that I will miss them a lot when I leave Nepal. The end is so close, 25 days left, and I know that when that day comes it'll be harder than I expect. I've lived and shared five months of my life here, and will take pieces of the people I've come to love when I leave.
I love you all,
Elizabeth
