The smoke billowed thickly upward into the bright blue sky. I had been sitting there, on giant stone steps at the source of the holy Ganges River, for 3 hours, completely enthralled in what I was witnessing. I was directly across from the Golden Temple of Pashupati Nath, the birthplace of the Hindu God Shiva. And I was experiencing my first Nepali cremation.
Through the translucent clouds of smoke, I watched the faces of the family. They were all there; brothers, sisters, children, husbands, wives; all the loved ones left behind in this world. But it wasn’t like any funeral I have ever witnessed. Death in western societies seemed so cold compared to this. We spend our last minutes, days, years, in a sterile hospital room until finally death claims us. Then it’s into a box, and into eternal darkness deep within the earth. Mourning is done in silence and solitude. But here it is all out in the open. The dieing person spends their last days with their loved ones. When they die they are brought to the to this temple. There feet our dipped in the holy river while blessings are done and then the cremation process begins.
Pyres line the river’s edge, each at different stages of the cremation ritual. Street boys play in the water, diving for coins that are thrown in as offerings to the Gods. Women in brightly colored saris wash their feet in the Holy River, while other get their fortunes read or pray with a Hindu priest for a long prosperous marriage. Holy men, dressed in bright oranges, with long beards and faces covered with different colored ash, stroll through the groups of people. There was so much to watch, that I could hardly decide where to look.
As I watched the funerals taking place in the midst of all this activity, I was struck, not with a sense of grief, but with a sense of wonder. There were no black garment or silent tears. Instead the mourners all wear white, which makes them seem to glow in the hot morning sunlight. The deceased were covered with bright orange, yellow and red flowers, beautiful beads, and many candles. Despite this being a ceremony of death, there was something very alive and very natural about the whole process.
I think I could live in Nepal for my entire lifetime and never stop being surprised and amazed by things that I see and experience. Every single day there is something new to marvel at, to be shocked by, or to simply wonder about. I feel like a child again, always brimming with questions. “Why? What’s that? What does that mean? Why are they doing that?”
That's the beauty of travel. There is ALWAYS something new to learn.
Sunday, August 10, 2008
Tuesday, July 29, 2008
Dreaming Big
Ever since I was young I’ve had an overactive imagination. I live with my feet on the earth and my head in the clouds. I’m constantly writing stories, daydreaming, and planning out various roads I could walk down in life.
The other night, I was talking with my mother, telling about all the dreams that I have for my life. I said something like, “Sometimes I worry that I have let my imagination whisk me away. That I won't be able to actually do everything that I'm wanting to do. That I’m dreaming too big.”
She replied, “Adelaide, dreaming big is just the first step.”
That got me thinking: One about how lucky I am to have such wonderful parents who support me even when my dreams may seem a bit over the top. And two about the fact that every person who has ever made an impact on the world started by simply dreaming big. Without big dreams, without imagination, human kind would not be where we are today. It allows us to set goals, to have aspirations, to create, to invent, to hope. It is our greatest tool. It is what sets us apart, what makes us extraordinary. It allows us to imagine of something better, something more. It can give us light even in the darkest of times, give us hope when we have nothing.
If I give nothing else to the kids at Ama Ghar, I want to teach them how to imagine, how to dream big. Through my weekly creative writing classes, I’ve been slowly giving them the tools to use their imagination. In the beginning, it was a slow process, with me prompting them on every subject, like blowing on a spark and waiting for it to catch flame. But tonight, after about four weeks of working with them, I saw that spark of imagination finally burst into flame and spread as rapidly as a forest fire. Now their ideas are pouring out of their minds, overflowing on the paper. It is a very gratifying feeling to see them finally grasp the idea of creativity and run with it.
Incredibly, I have less than three weeks left in Nepal. The kids are already asking me not to leave. I calmly assure them that I will return as soon as I can and that they will be in my heart every day until then, but secretly my overactive imagination is already racing to find a way to bring me back into their lives. I know that it is a lot of money and that I really don't have the time to come back here any time soon, but there is no harm in wishing. After all, my ‘big dreams’ were what brought me here in the first place. And like my mom said, 'That was just the first step."
The other night, I was talking with my mother, telling about all the dreams that I have for my life. I said something like, “Sometimes I worry that I have let my imagination whisk me away. That I won't be able to actually do everything that I'm wanting to do. That I’m dreaming too big.”
She replied, “Adelaide, dreaming big is just the first step.”
That got me thinking: One about how lucky I am to have such wonderful parents who support me even when my dreams may seem a bit over the top. And two about the fact that every person who has ever made an impact on the world started by simply dreaming big. Without big dreams, without imagination, human kind would not be where we are today. It allows us to set goals, to have aspirations, to create, to invent, to hope. It is our greatest tool. It is what sets us apart, what makes us extraordinary. It allows us to imagine of something better, something more. It can give us light even in the darkest of times, give us hope when we have nothing.
If I give nothing else to the kids at Ama Ghar, I want to teach them how to imagine, how to dream big. Through my weekly creative writing classes, I’ve been slowly giving them the tools to use their imagination. In the beginning, it was a slow process, with me prompting them on every subject, like blowing on a spark and waiting for it to catch flame. But tonight, after about four weeks of working with them, I saw that spark of imagination finally burst into flame and spread as rapidly as a forest fire. Now their ideas are pouring out of their minds, overflowing on the paper. It is a very gratifying feeling to see them finally grasp the idea of creativity and run with it.
Incredibly, I have less than three weeks left in Nepal. The kids are already asking me not to leave. I calmly assure them that I will return as soon as I can and that they will be in my heart every day until then, but secretly my overactive imagination is already racing to find a way to bring me back into their lives. I know that it is a lot of money and that I really don't have the time to come back here any time soon, but there is no harm in wishing. After all, my ‘big dreams’ were what brought me here in the first place. And like my mom said, 'That was just the first step."
Sunday, July 20, 2008
Our Bahini (Little Sister)
Yesterday I had the pleasure of meeting the Little Sister that we sponsored. Her name is Bishnu Maya. She is in third grade and a student at the school where I am teaching. Her hair is cut short and clings in tight ringlets to her head (which is unusual for Nepalis). She has a shy smile, and kept on stealing glances at me when she thought that I wasn’t looking. She has 3 siblings and lives with her family in a 2-room apartment. Her father makes 250 Rupees a day (roughly $3).
It was the weirdest feeling to be standing there with Bishnu’s family. I always knew that the money that I fund raised would change the course of a girl’s life, but that was somehow intangible in my mind, like reading a story about someone I have never met or trying to imagine the taste of something I have never eaten. Until now I had envisioned the funds going toward a nameless face. But as I stood there, with Bishnu’s mother clutching both my hands in hers, speaking Nepalese words of gratitude, I realized the enormity of my actions. No longer was the scholarship money for some girl in a far away land; it was for this girl, Bishnu, standing before me with dark eyes full of hopes and dreams that she now has the opportunity to pursue.
I want to pass on Bishnu’s mother’s words of thanks to you all, to whom the gratitude rightfully belongs, because without your generous donations it would have been very difficult to come to this point on my own. I know it may be hard for you to imagine, as it was for me, how much impact your contribution has made, but it has truly changed Bishnu’s life forever. And, what’s more, it has changed my life as well. Effectively, by donating to my cause, you have deeply impacted two women’s lives, Bishnu’s and my own (not to mention the 38 wonderful Ama Ghar children!) So, once again, and this won’t be the last time, I want to humbly thank everyone who helped make this possible.
Tuesday, July 15, 2008
No Forks. All Fingers.
The rain is falling in thick sheets outside my window. It’s not your average Washington drizzle or Idaho summer thunderstorm. I’m talking about fatty droplets hurtling down from the heavens; turning the earth to mud beneath your feet and soaking you so entirely that you might as well have just jumped into a swimming pool with all of your cloths on. This is a true monsoon style down pour. Candles cast their soft glow over the entire household (electricity, I’ve found, is quite unreliable here). The children’s voices echo down the stone stairwell as they sing their nightly Hindu prayer. I love nights like these.
I just finished my dinner. Dhal Bhat. I’ve finally started eating in true Nepali fashion. No Forks. All Fingers. It is great. At first it was a bit odd to go against years of western etiquette. I kept on hearing my dad’s voice saying, “You’re not a monkey. Don’t eat with your hands.” And here I was digging into this sloppy rice and lentil dish and loving every minute of it. It is a lot harder than you might think. Initially, I have to admit that I got more rice on my shirt than I did in my mouth. But now, after weeks of practice, I’m all pro.
Yet another week has flown by. My Ama Ghar creative writing class is proving to be incredibly entertaining. The kids, all of whom have never written a story before, were a bit hesitant at first. I explained to them the process of writing fiction and then gave them their first topic; they are to write a story where they are the protagonist (or antagonist if they so desired). “But there is a twist,” I paused dramatically, “You have super powers.” The minute I said this, their eyes lit up. Suddenly the idea of writing became much more enticing. “Oh, Auntie I am going to fly! I’m going to have hair colored pink and purple and green. I am going to be the bad guy…no no the good guy…no no the bad guy. ” I’ll make sure to keep an update on their progress as they move through the stages of writing until they produce a final product. It will be very fun to see what these kids come up with now that they are allowed to use some creativity and imagination.
In other news, I’ve become the younger children’s life size Barbi. At first it was just the girls who braided my hair and dressed me up in colorful saris, but now the little boys also want to take part in braiding Auntie Adelaide’s hair. When they are finished, they parade me around the house, showing everyone my sari and hairstyle (which usually ends up being something like 5 different braids sticking off of my head in various angles and widths).
Although Nepal has been filled with many unexpected, often brutal challenges, it has also filled with so many rewards; first of which has been getting to know the 38 Ama Ghar children. The trip into Kathmandu always tears me down. But upon returning home, all of my anguish over the tragedies that I have beheld vanishes. I walk through the gates and am greeted with shouts of welcome as a group of kids come running towards me, ready to throw their little arms around my waist and tell me about their school days. The little ones gave me their love and affection from the minute I walked through the door a month ago. The older kids were a bit more reserved. Slowly, I have been able to break the ice with them. Now when I get up in the morning, I am showered with hugs and affection from all of the children, both young and old. And as I sit here, curled up on my bed, writing in the flickering candle light, I can't help but feel that I have unexpectedly found yet another family, yet another home. This time not in Idaho, not in Italia, not in Bellingham, but in a rural town on the outskirts of Kathmandu, Nepal. I never thought that I would be so lucky.
I just finished my dinner. Dhal Bhat. I’ve finally started eating in true Nepali fashion. No Forks. All Fingers. It is great. At first it was a bit odd to go against years of western etiquette. I kept on hearing my dad’s voice saying, “You’re not a monkey. Don’t eat with your hands.” And here I was digging into this sloppy rice and lentil dish and loving every minute of it. It is a lot harder than you might think. Initially, I have to admit that I got more rice on my shirt than I did in my mouth. But now, after weeks of practice, I’m all pro.
Yet another week has flown by. My Ama Ghar creative writing class is proving to be incredibly entertaining. The kids, all of whom have never written a story before, were a bit hesitant at first. I explained to them the process of writing fiction and then gave them their first topic; they are to write a story where they are the protagonist (or antagonist if they so desired). “But there is a twist,” I paused dramatically, “You have super powers.” The minute I said this, their eyes lit up. Suddenly the idea of writing became much more enticing. “Oh, Auntie I am going to fly! I’m going to have hair colored pink and purple and green. I am going to be the bad guy…no no the good guy…no no the bad guy. ” I’ll make sure to keep an update on their progress as they move through the stages of writing until they produce a final product. It will be very fun to see what these kids come up with now that they are allowed to use some creativity and imagination.
In other news, I’ve become the younger children’s life size Barbi. At first it was just the girls who braided my hair and dressed me up in colorful saris, but now the little boys also want to take part in braiding Auntie Adelaide’s hair. When they are finished, they parade me around the house, showing everyone my sari and hairstyle (which usually ends up being something like 5 different braids sticking off of my head in various angles and widths).
Although Nepal has been filled with many unexpected, often brutal challenges, it has also filled with so many rewards; first of which has been getting to know the 38 Ama Ghar children. The trip into Kathmandu always tears me down. But upon returning home, all of my anguish over the tragedies that I have beheld vanishes. I walk through the gates and am greeted with shouts of welcome as a group of kids come running towards me, ready to throw their little arms around my waist and tell me about their school days. The little ones gave me their love and affection from the minute I walked through the door a month ago. The older kids were a bit more reserved. Slowly, I have been able to break the ice with them. Now when I get up in the morning, I am showered with hugs and affection from all of the children, both young and old. And as I sit here, curled up on my bed, writing in the flickering candle light, I can't help but feel that I have unexpectedly found yet another family, yet another home. This time not in Idaho, not in Italia, not in Bellingham, but in a rural town on the outskirts of Kathmandu, Nepal. I never thought that I would be so lucky.
Wednesday, July 9, 2008
Tasty Tidbits from Nepal
My time here is going incredibly fast. I can hardly keep myself anchored to solid ground. I’m so busy flying this way and that, helping with homework, going into Kathmandu, taking a trip to southern Nepal to ride elephants, and starting a teaching job at the Little Sisters Fund (LSF) School that I've hardly had a second to catch my breath. Every day is filled to the brim with new sights, tastes, smells, and experiences.
Monday
I made the mistake of showing a few of the kids the photo booth application on my computer. Within minutes a good fifteen of them were swarming around my computer, pushing and shoving to get into the frame and then screaming with laughter at the resulting picture. It was all I could do to tear them away. Every day since they have been begging, “Auntie please, can we make crazy pictures. Please!” These little kids have so much energy. Some days they truly make me feel like an old woman!
Tuesday
The bus system here is ridiculous. Micros, as these little minivans are called, are the sole means of transportation for many Nepalis. With the rising gas prices, the conductors of these little vans (meant for 8-10 people) pack as many people into the car as possible. McKenzie fondly refers to them as clown cars because at any given time there are at least 20 to 30 people crammed inside the van. There are people hanging out the doors, smashed against the window, riding on top. I find it all quite humorous and often spend the entire bus ride laughing as I am smashed against awkward Nepalese body parts, shoved this way and that, and left balancing precariously on one butt cheek on the edge of a seat.
Wednesday
Today brought a trip into Kathmandu, also known as the garbage can of Nepal. The trash strike is finally over. Now comes the incredibly unappealing task of cleaning up mountains of waste that have been rotting in the hot sunshine for weeks. I am slowly becoming more accustomed to the crowds, the smells, the heat, and the chaos. The poverty, however, still leaves me feeling sick to my stomach. I don’t think that I will every get used to it.
I am teaching English to grades 6 and 7 at a local school. Although I have had no teaching experience what so ever, the principle couldn’t have been more insistent that I start work immediately. The kids are very attentive and eager to learn. I’ve decided to take the approach of teaching a creative writing class (much like a class I am teaching the children at Ama Ghar). This way they will be able to work on their vocabulary, their grammar, and their sentence structure while, hopefully, still having fun.
Thursday
This morning McKenzie and I were woken by a loud bang. We both looked at each other fearfully, the same thing in our minds: bomb. The king was recently removed from office, ending a 300-year-old monarchy. Although it has been a fairly peaceful transition to democracy, there have been several suicide bombings in Kathmandu proper. McKenzie and I rushed into the hallway to ask Bonnie (the director of the orphanage and a truly inspirational woman) what had happened. She shrugged nonchalantly, saying “Could have been in a bomb or an exploding tire, but it came from outside of the orphanage, so it’s nothing to worry about.” McKenzie and I went back to our room laughing nervously. What a strange world we have stumbled into where bombs can be as easily shrugged off as an exploding tire.
Friday
There is a golden Buddha perched high on the mountainside overlooking Godavari (the town where Ama Ghar is located). I have felt drawn to it from the moment that I first spotted it, but until today, I haven’t had a chance to hike up to it. The sun was high in the sky this morning when I set out on my golden Buddha search. I took one of my bahini (meaning little sister in Nepalese) with me and together we tromped up the muddy path to the Buddha. It is as splendid up close as it is far away. Tibetan prayer flags frame its golden head and brilliant scarlet flowers lay at its feet. As we began to hike down, I found myself trailing a group of three Nepali women and a herd of 20 goats. I was marveling at their vibrant saris and chuckling to myself as I watched the bleating goats nimbly pick their way down the rocky mountainside. My camera in hand, I was discreetly snapping pictures of this typical Nepali scene. Abruptly, the three women stopped, turning to look at me. As I approached them, I was worried that I had done something to offend them. I smiled hesitantly, placing my hands together in front of my chest, bowing slightly and saying Namaste (the traditional Nepalese greeting). To my delight, the women returned my smiles and started walking down the hill with me. I was beaming at this point, realizing that these women had been waiting for me so that we could all walk together. They spoke no English, and I speak very little Nepali, but that didn’t seem to matter. I couldn’t stop smiling. It all seemed so surreal; here I was, accompanied by these beautiful sari clad women, surrounded by goats, hiking down a Nepalese mountainside.
Saturday
Swimming lessons. The kids of Ama Ghar get the privilege of going swimming once a year at a tourist hotel. Trying to recall my years of swimming lessons as a child, I taught the kids how to blow bubbles, float, and kick. It is crazy that one afternoon in a pool can be the highlight of some of these kids year. After swimming we returned and I gave them some dance lessons (which was more just me goofily dancing around and them laughing). Then I decided it would be fun to have a limbo contest. Using a green sari as my limbo stick (which later became a jump rope…you have to learn how to be very inventive here) I had a limbo contest with the kids. I haven’t laughed so hard in a long time. The youngest boy couldn’t quite grasp the concept and would run toward the limbo sari without really bending backward. His head would catch on the fabric, and he would fall to the ground in giggles.
Sunday
Squatting on the kitchen floor, knife in hand, I had my first lesson in Nepalese cooking. The four little girls who sat next to me snickered in glee, watching me clumsily attempt to slice a potato into pieces. Every kid in the house participates in the cooking and cleaning, regardless of their age. I must admit, it was a bit unnerving to watch these four little seven-year-old girls slicing vegetables with giant cooking knives. “Auntie, sing us a song.” They all pleaded with me. Unable to turn down such cute hopeful faces, I chose one of their favorites. “Doe a deer, a female deer,” I began. They all beamed in excitement before promptly joining me in the next verse. Before I knew it, I had the entire room up in song as we chopped vegetables for the nightly Dhal Baht.
Monday
I made the mistake of showing a few of the kids the photo booth application on my computer. Within minutes a good fifteen of them were swarming around my computer, pushing and shoving to get into the frame and then screaming with laughter at the resulting picture. It was all I could do to tear them away. Every day since they have been begging, “Auntie please, can we make crazy pictures. Please!” These little kids have so much energy. Some days they truly make me feel like an old woman!
Tuesday
The bus system here is ridiculous. Micros, as these little minivans are called, are the sole means of transportation for many Nepalis. With the rising gas prices, the conductors of these little vans (meant for 8-10 people) pack as many people into the car as possible. McKenzie fondly refers to them as clown cars because at any given time there are at least 20 to 30 people crammed inside the van. There are people hanging out the doors, smashed against the window, riding on top. I find it all quite humorous and often spend the entire bus ride laughing as I am smashed against awkward Nepalese body parts, shoved this way and that, and left balancing precariously on one butt cheek on the edge of a seat.
Wednesday
Today brought a trip into Kathmandu, also known as the garbage can of Nepal. The trash strike is finally over. Now comes the incredibly unappealing task of cleaning up mountains of waste that have been rotting in the hot sunshine for weeks. I am slowly becoming more accustomed to the crowds, the smells, the heat, and the chaos. The poverty, however, still leaves me feeling sick to my stomach. I don’t think that I will every get used to it.
I am teaching English to grades 6 and 7 at a local school. Although I have had no teaching experience what so ever, the principle couldn’t have been more insistent that I start work immediately. The kids are very attentive and eager to learn. I’ve decided to take the approach of teaching a creative writing class (much like a class I am teaching the children at Ama Ghar). This way they will be able to work on their vocabulary, their grammar, and their sentence structure while, hopefully, still having fun.
Thursday
This morning McKenzie and I were woken by a loud bang. We both looked at each other fearfully, the same thing in our minds: bomb. The king was recently removed from office, ending a 300-year-old monarchy. Although it has been a fairly peaceful transition to democracy, there have been several suicide bombings in Kathmandu proper. McKenzie and I rushed into the hallway to ask Bonnie (the director of the orphanage and a truly inspirational woman) what had happened. She shrugged nonchalantly, saying “Could have been in a bomb or an exploding tire, but it came from outside of the orphanage, so it’s nothing to worry about.” McKenzie and I went back to our room laughing nervously. What a strange world we have stumbled into where bombs can be as easily shrugged off as an exploding tire.
Friday
There is a golden Buddha perched high on the mountainside overlooking Godavari (the town where Ama Ghar is located). I have felt drawn to it from the moment that I first spotted it, but until today, I haven’t had a chance to hike up to it. The sun was high in the sky this morning when I set out on my golden Buddha search. I took one of my bahini (meaning little sister in Nepalese) with me and together we tromped up the muddy path to the Buddha. It is as splendid up close as it is far away. Tibetan prayer flags frame its golden head and brilliant scarlet flowers lay at its feet. As we began to hike down, I found myself trailing a group of three Nepali women and a herd of 20 goats. I was marveling at their vibrant saris and chuckling to myself as I watched the bleating goats nimbly pick their way down the rocky mountainside. My camera in hand, I was discreetly snapping pictures of this typical Nepali scene. Abruptly, the three women stopped, turning to look at me. As I approached them, I was worried that I had done something to offend them. I smiled hesitantly, placing my hands together in front of my chest, bowing slightly and saying Namaste (the traditional Nepalese greeting). To my delight, the women returned my smiles and started walking down the hill with me. I was beaming at this point, realizing that these women had been waiting for me so that we could all walk together. They spoke no English, and I speak very little Nepali, but that didn’t seem to matter. I couldn’t stop smiling. It all seemed so surreal; here I was, accompanied by these beautiful sari clad women, surrounded by goats, hiking down a Nepalese mountainside.
Saturday
Swimming lessons. The kids of Ama Ghar get the privilege of going swimming once a year at a tourist hotel. Trying to recall my years of swimming lessons as a child, I taught the kids how to blow bubbles, float, and kick. It is crazy that one afternoon in a pool can be the highlight of some of these kids year. After swimming we returned and I gave them some dance lessons (which was more just me goofily dancing around and them laughing). Then I decided it would be fun to have a limbo contest. Using a green sari as my limbo stick (which later became a jump rope…you have to learn how to be very inventive here) I had a limbo contest with the kids. I haven’t laughed so hard in a long time. The youngest boy couldn’t quite grasp the concept and would run toward the limbo sari without really bending backward. His head would catch on the fabric, and he would fall to the ground in giggles.
Sunday
Squatting on the kitchen floor, knife in hand, I had my first lesson in Nepalese cooking. The four little girls who sat next to me snickered in glee, watching me clumsily attempt to slice a potato into pieces. Every kid in the house participates in the cooking and cleaning, regardless of their age. I must admit, it was a bit unnerving to watch these four little seven-year-old girls slicing vegetables with giant cooking knives. “Auntie, sing us a song.” They all pleaded with me. Unable to turn down such cute hopeful faces, I chose one of their favorites. “Doe a deer, a female deer,” I began. They all beamed in excitement before promptly joining me in the next verse. Before I knew it, I had the entire room up in song as we chopped vegetables for the nightly Dhal Baht.
Thursday, June 26, 2008
Amidst the Majesty and the Tragedy
It keeps escaping me that I’m actually in Nepal. I go about my daily routines; eating, playing with the kids, reading, ect. But then I run into a sight (like the acres of terraced rice fields that lay just a short walk from Ama Ghar), a smell (incense, sewage, curries and spices), a taste (I swear that the other night I ate this curried tomato that somehow embodied the entirety of Nepal), a sound (the nightly chorus of street dogs howling their sorrowful songs for all to hear), and BAMM!! I’m suddenly hit with the overwhelming truth that I’m here, in Nepal. I feel my heart racing, I’m short of breath, excitement and fear races through my veins and I’m speechless in the majesty or tragedy of it all. Then, as quickly as it came, the sensation slips away again.
The Majesty. Nepal is truly an amazing place. Green mountains rising high above the vibrant city of Kathmandu, women dressed in a myriad of colorful saris, cows lazily strolling down the dirt lane, the taste of my daily dinner of Dahl Bhat (lentils, rice, and curried vegetables), the beaming faces of my beautiful Ama Ghar children. I understand why so many people love Nepal. How could they not with such amazing views, wonderful tastes, and friendly smiling people?
The Tragedy. There is another side to Nepal. A filthy, putrid, sorrowful side that no matter how hard you try, it cannot be shut out. I want to keep an accurate description of everything that I encounter during my two months here, both the good and the bad. So here it goes…
I ventured into Kathmandu yesterday; my first real trip into the city. I don’t even know how to describe my day. I’ve written and rewritten this part, and none of my words seem to do the city justice. So I will simply say that I have never felt more helpless or more hopeless in my entire life. The poverty level is staggering. Already I felt out of my element, stumbling through the CHAOTIC masses of cars, scooters, and people. The air is muggy and with each breath I could feel the pollution savagely tearing down my throat and brutally ripping apart my lungs. The stench is overwhelming. The trash strike continues, and the garbage piles have now formed into miniature Himalayan Mountains. Three little boys approached me, begging for some spare change. They couldn’t have been older than 6. Their feet were bare, their cloths were filthy, and tiny hands were desperately clawing at my clothing. But it was their eyes that made my knee’s go weak. Their sorrowful gaze that tore me down to nothing. I know that there is no point in giving them any money. The lords of these street children hoard all of their profits. Usually the kids don’t see even a single cent. But it killed me, never the less, to have to turn a cold shoulder like that. As I ripped myself away from their hungry eyes, I left nothing but my broken heart in their empty tin cups.
I am an Idaho girl through and through. I love the serenity of my mountain town, the fresh clean air, the beauty of the environment that surrounds me. I’ve done my fare share of traveling, but I’ve always stayed in developed countries, never venturing beyond the safe boundaries of the Western world.
Now I realize that I’ve lived my entire life with a blindfold on; completely ignorant to the poverty that is raping the larger portion of humanity.
The fever came at some point during my day in Kathmandu. Nausea, despair, anguish. I thought that I was stronger. I thought that I was prepared to see this. I’ve watched documentaries, I’ve read books. This is why I’m here, after all, because I want to help people, because I want to make the world a better place.
But as I stood there amidst the horns, trash, mobs of people, and the poverty, I lost hold the wall I had built up. It was too much for me to take in. Dogs lying dead in the trash heaps. Pollution so thick I could practically see it. The stench of decay and death seeping into my skin, my nose, my mouth. The street children moving for person to person, time after time being swatted away as if they were just another piece of trash. A Nepali woman, newborn baby clinging to her breast, who latched onto me with pitiful eyes, repeating in Nepalese “Help me sister, please.”
Thankfully McKenzie was there. She saw the color drain from my face and quickly found me a trash free spot to sit. She asked me if I was ok, and when I tried to answer her, I was shocked by the voice that came out of my mouth. It was weak and shaky. I tried again, but no matter how hard I strained, I couldn’t get that tremor out of my voice. Even when I was safely curled up in my bed hours later, the tragedy of the city still haunted me, the fever making me relive everything in nightmarish detail.
Despite all of this, I know I have to go back into the city. As much as I’d like to, I can’t stay locked up in my wonderful Ama Ghar haven. I’ve been blind for far to long. It’s time I open up my eyes and actually see, no matter how much distress it will cause me. The poverty is a huge part of Nepal. I need to see it, to experience it, in order to truly appreciate why I’m here. The majesty and the tragedy of it all. Somehow the two seem to go hand in hand in this foreign land. I need to learn to embrace them both. That is why I’m here after all. To help. To bring about change. The kids at the Ama Ghar orphanage were once like those three street boys who approached me. The girls at the Little Sisters Fund would have had a similar fate if not for the kindness of foreign sponsors, like all of you. Once again, I need to express my gratitude to everyone who donated money to my cause. After seeing the poverty that ravages this country, I’ve realized how much our money will do for these children. It will buy books, uniforms, and food for both the Ama Ghar kids and a Little Sister to enable them to stay in school and help further the development of a nation through the education of its youth.
The tragedy. That I cannot take every single little street child into my arms and give them all the lives that they deserve.
The majesty. The generosity and love from foreign strangers, from all of you, to help better the lives of the Nepali children forever. And that is something, even after all of the magnificent things that I’ve seen throughout my life, that truly leaves me in awe.
The Majesty. Nepal is truly an amazing place. Green mountains rising high above the vibrant city of Kathmandu, women dressed in a myriad of colorful saris, cows lazily strolling down the dirt lane, the taste of my daily dinner of Dahl Bhat (lentils, rice, and curried vegetables), the beaming faces of my beautiful Ama Ghar children. I understand why so many people love Nepal. How could they not with such amazing views, wonderful tastes, and friendly smiling people?
The Tragedy. There is another side to Nepal. A filthy, putrid, sorrowful side that no matter how hard you try, it cannot be shut out. I want to keep an accurate description of everything that I encounter during my two months here, both the good and the bad. So here it goes…
I ventured into Kathmandu yesterday; my first real trip into the city. I don’t even know how to describe my day. I’ve written and rewritten this part, and none of my words seem to do the city justice. So I will simply say that I have never felt more helpless or more hopeless in my entire life. The poverty level is staggering. Already I felt out of my element, stumbling through the CHAOTIC masses of cars, scooters, and people. The air is muggy and with each breath I could feel the pollution savagely tearing down my throat and brutally ripping apart my lungs. The stench is overwhelming. The trash strike continues, and the garbage piles have now formed into miniature Himalayan Mountains. Three little boys approached me, begging for some spare change. They couldn’t have been older than 6. Their feet were bare, their cloths were filthy, and tiny hands were desperately clawing at my clothing. But it was their eyes that made my knee’s go weak. Their sorrowful gaze that tore me down to nothing. I know that there is no point in giving them any money. The lords of these street children hoard all of their profits. Usually the kids don’t see even a single cent. But it killed me, never the less, to have to turn a cold shoulder like that. As I ripped myself away from their hungry eyes, I left nothing but my broken heart in their empty tin cups.
I am an Idaho girl through and through. I love the serenity of my mountain town, the fresh clean air, the beauty of the environment that surrounds me. I’ve done my fare share of traveling, but I’ve always stayed in developed countries, never venturing beyond the safe boundaries of the Western world.
Now I realize that I’ve lived my entire life with a blindfold on; completely ignorant to the poverty that is raping the larger portion of humanity.
The fever came at some point during my day in Kathmandu. Nausea, despair, anguish. I thought that I was stronger. I thought that I was prepared to see this. I’ve watched documentaries, I’ve read books. This is why I’m here, after all, because I want to help people, because I want to make the world a better place.
But as I stood there amidst the horns, trash, mobs of people, and the poverty, I lost hold the wall I had built up. It was too much for me to take in. Dogs lying dead in the trash heaps. Pollution so thick I could practically see it. The stench of decay and death seeping into my skin, my nose, my mouth. The street children moving for person to person, time after time being swatted away as if they were just another piece of trash. A Nepali woman, newborn baby clinging to her breast, who latched onto me with pitiful eyes, repeating in Nepalese “Help me sister, please.”
Thankfully McKenzie was there. She saw the color drain from my face and quickly found me a trash free spot to sit. She asked me if I was ok, and when I tried to answer her, I was shocked by the voice that came out of my mouth. It was weak and shaky. I tried again, but no matter how hard I strained, I couldn’t get that tremor out of my voice. Even when I was safely curled up in my bed hours later, the tragedy of the city still haunted me, the fever making me relive everything in nightmarish detail.
Despite all of this, I know I have to go back into the city. As much as I’d like to, I can’t stay locked up in my wonderful Ama Ghar haven. I’ve been blind for far to long. It’s time I open up my eyes and actually see, no matter how much distress it will cause me. The poverty is a huge part of Nepal. I need to see it, to experience it, in order to truly appreciate why I’m here. The majesty and the tragedy of it all. Somehow the two seem to go hand in hand in this foreign land. I need to learn to embrace them both. That is why I’m here after all. To help. To bring about change. The kids at the Ama Ghar orphanage were once like those three street boys who approached me. The girls at the Little Sisters Fund would have had a similar fate if not for the kindness of foreign sponsors, like all of you. Once again, I need to express my gratitude to everyone who donated money to my cause. After seeing the poverty that ravages this country, I’ve realized how much our money will do for these children. It will buy books, uniforms, and food for both the Ama Ghar kids and a Little Sister to enable them to stay in school and help further the development of a nation through the education of its youth.
The tragedy. That I cannot take every single little street child into my arms and give them all the lives that they deserve.
The majesty. The generosity and love from foreign strangers, from all of you, to help better the lives of the Nepali children forever. And that is something, even after all of the magnificent things that I’ve seen throughout my life, that truly leaves me in awe.
Thursday, June 19, 2008
Namaste from Nepal
Nepal.
My first reaction was, honestly, shock and panic. The buildings and homes look, by any western standard, abandoned and on the verge of collapse. There is a trash strike in the city right now, so the streets are literally filled with mountains of trash; making an ideal playground for the plethora of homeless street children. The roads are crowded with little buses, tuk tuks, motor bikes, and cars. There are lines on the road (which have existed for a grand total of 2 years), but they mean nothing. Driving here has been reduced to a constant game of chicken.
Upon my arrival, I was met in the airport by the other volunteer at the Ama Ghar orphanage, McKenzie. She has been here for three weeks now and is finally starting to get her feet on the ground. I am so thankful to have her here to show me the ropes in this foreign land. I can tell already that we are going to be great friends. I had been expecting the culture shock and, sure enough, it hit me like a wave the minute I left the airport. As we headed toward the Ama Ghar orphanage, I was caught somewhere between speechless shock, tears, and nausea.
The Ama Ghar orphanage is, thankfully, about a half an hour outside of Kathmandu. It’s surrounded by other orphanages (or homes as they are called here). It is so sad how many unwanted children there are in this country. Because of the Maoist rebels, many of the families in the Nepalese countryside have either been killed, or forced to abandon their houses and children in order to survive. Only the lucky few are taken into ‘homes’. The rest end up as street children or are trafficked as sex slaves into India and Thailand.
Ama Ghar is a wonderful home for the 38 children living here. It is simple but comfortable. I was greeted by one of the elderly ‘house mothers’. She blessed me by putting some sort of red chalky powder on my forehead. Still feeling very shaky, McKenzie took me to our room and helped me settle in.
My fears and doubts were completely forgotten as soon as I met the children. Slowly they began to trickle in, starting with two bold girls bearing hand-colored welcome signs. The rest of the children were a bit shy at first, but in no time I found myself being bombarded by the names and faces of 38 little Nepalese children. Sandesh, Meena, Manju, Popo, Krishna, Rama, Sahjanna, Ashim. How am I ever going to remember all of those names that feel so foreign on my tongue?
I can already tell how truly special these children are. They range from 5 to 17 years old, and are so good hearted. They have seen so much hardship, more than I can even imagine, but they are some of the happiest children I have ever met. They are constantly singing, laughing, and joking with each other. The only thing that they ask for is attention and love. Both of which I have in immeasurable quantities.
Even though I’ve only been here for two days, I already feel completely at home. I am going to start working with the Little Sisters Fund on Saturday. I’m not sure if this makes sense, but I know, without doubt, that this is exactly where I need to be right now. That this is exactly what I need to be doing. I am so thankful to be here.
My first reaction was, honestly, shock and panic. The buildings and homes look, by any western standard, abandoned and on the verge of collapse. There is a trash strike in the city right now, so the streets are literally filled with mountains of trash; making an ideal playground for the plethora of homeless street children. The roads are crowded with little buses, tuk tuks, motor bikes, and cars. There are lines on the road (which have existed for a grand total of 2 years), but they mean nothing. Driving here has been reduced to a constant game of chicken.
Upon my arrival, I was met in the airport by the other volunteer at the Ama Ghar orphanage, McKenzie. She has been here for three weeks now and is finally starting to get her feet on the ground. I am so thankful to have her here to show me the ropes in this foreign land. I can tell already that we are going to be great friends. I had been expecting the culture shock and, sure enough, it hit me like a wave the minute I left the airport. As we headed toward the Ama Ghar orphanage, I was caught somewhere between speechless shock, tears, and nausea.
The Ama Ghar orphanage is, thankfully, about a half an hour outside of Kathmandu. It’s surrounded by other orphanages (or homes as they are called here). It is so sad how many unwanted children there are in this country. Because of the Maoist rebels, many of the families in the Nepalese countryside have either been killed, or forced to abandon their houses and children in order to survive. Only the lucky few are taken into ‘homes’. The rest end up as street children or are trafficked as sex slaves into India and Thailand.
Ama Ghar is a wonderful home for the 38 children living here. It is simple but comfortable. I was greeted by one of the elderly ‘house mothers’. She blessed me by putting some sort of red chalky powder on my forehead. Still feeling very shaky, McKenzie took me to our room and helped me settle in.
My fears and doubts were completely forgotten as soon as I met the children. Slowly they began to trickle in, starting with two bold girls bearing hand-colored welcome signs. The rest of the children were a bit shy at first, but in no time I found myself being bombarded by the names and faces of 38 little Nepalese children. Sandesh, Meena, Manju, Popo, Krishna, Rama, Sahjanna, Ashim. How am I ever going to remember all of those names that feel so foreign on my tongue?
I can already tell how truly special these children are. They range from 5 to 17 years old, and are so good hearted. They have seen so much hardship, more than I can even imagine, but they are some of the happiest children I have ever met. They are constantly singing, laughing, and joking with each other. The only thing that they ask for is attention and love. Both of which I have in immeasurable quantities.
Even though I’ve only been here for two days, I already feel completely at home. I am going to start working with the Little Sisters Fund on Saturday. I’m not sure if this makes sense, but I know, without doubt, that this is exactly where I need to be right now. That this is exactly what I need to be doing. I am so thankful to be here.
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