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."
Tuesday, July 29, 2008
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.
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