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.