Time is funny here- some days pass with incredible slowness, only to be followed by a week that teleports by. My last week here was very much the latter of the two- I can hardly believe that a whole week is over. Last Friday we celebrated Shivaratri, the festival symbolizing the end of winter, during which we had a great big bonfire outside of the home. I actually didn’t think it would even pass the lighting stage as they wanted to burn two huge roots and stumps that had been dug out of a hillside when they were doing construction. Those solid and massive hunks of wood looked dirty and very very solidly inflammable. Against all odds, and with the help of some modern day chemicals, they were burning cheerily and the kids crowded around for hours. They formed two teams on different sides of the fire and sang Hindi or Nepali songs, a competition in which one team would stop on a word and the next team would have to start a new song beginning with the last letter. It was pretty fun to watch, but would’ve been more fun to participate in. I tried to help out when “my” team was stuck on “R” by singing “Rock me mama like a wagon wheel, rock me mama any way you feel”, only to be told “Auntie, you don’t sing, okay?” The Nepali people are so blunt… Luckily I had a smoky fire and a sky full of stars to comfort me- Shivaratri was a lovely night.
The next day I was ready to go to Kathmandu right away, but unfortunately I’d promised another volunteer that I would help take some of the kids to church down in Sankhu. PA Nepal is technically Christian, although many of the kids don’t seem to know much about Jesus in comparison to Krishna, Shiva or Buddha. However, some of the kids are sincerely devout, and that number seemed to grow the more we tried not to be late. Forty-five minutes after we started to leave we walked down the hill, three volunteers trying rather unsuccessfully to keep 19 skipping kids in line, who seemed entirely too cheerful for a Saturday sermon (Sunday isn’t a holiday in Nepal).
We didn’t know where the church was, so we let Jimuna, one of the older girls, lead the group to the small bus park outside the government school. Looking at the building she pointed to, I could see no signs of any religious institution inside. What I could see on the top floor was a huge sign announcing Sankhu’s “Communist Party Center”, accompanied by a cheerily waving large-size communist flag. Raising my eyebrows I was led into a small alleyway between the building and up about ten flights of narrow, completely dark stairs. We came out on the rooftop, next to the flag, and were soon introduced to a cheerful, portly man who is the priest. He was doing his laundry in a bucket next to us, and informed us in limited English that the service wouldn’t begin until 10:30, about 40 minutes away.
Oh no! None of the kids had eaten breakfast yet, and neither had we, so Kati, one of the volunteers, ran down to buy some snacks for the kids. She came back with little fried rice-flour doughnuts and bananas, but when we tried to hand them out we were informed that you can only eat AFTER you pray. Me and the other volunteers exchanged a look. Darn it. Then we found out that the service would be about two hours. Double darn it. Despite these dire forewarnings the service was a pleasant experience, although all of the bibles and the sermon were in Nepali, and thus completely incomprehensible. However, they sang Hindi-style songs as hymns, accompanied by a small drum, and I was completely amazed by how well-behaved the children were, especially because some of them are perhaps only four years old. They paid attention, had a minimum of fidgeting, and prayed with their eyes squeezed shut and their hands together with the same intensity as everyone else in the room. At the end the priest and some of the weekly church-goers served biscuits and milk tea to all of us. We shared our snacks with the congregation, which had tripled in size due to our surprising appearance that morning.
We walked the kids home and returned to the bus park to take a bus into Kathmandu. After trying to board two buses and getting turned away, we finally understood that it was a “bonda”, the Nepali word for strike. Soon we realized that there were three bondas in between us and the city, and thus we had three options: go back to the home, get a taxi, or walk. We settled for a mix between the latter two, walking to the outskirts of Kathmandu, about 7 km away, and then trying to catch a taxi there. I was actually excited about walking along the road in the sunshine, past terraced fields and small villages- especially because the traffic would be very low. However, after perhaps a half-hour of walking we flagged down a taxi that already had a father and two daughters in it. They were very nice and offered to let us ride with them, not to be outdone, the taxi driver offered to let us pay 800 rupees ($11-12) for the privilege. Up went our bags onto the top of the taxi, and we piled, clownlike, into the tiny “Honda” car, which easily squishes three passengers, let alone the six inside. We took side roads to avoid strike blockades, meaning that we had to jump out and push the taxi up a rocky, dusty and vertical road, but also meaning that we drove through beautiful little villages that I had never seen before. Despite the many setbacks of the day, I was feeling quite cheerful by the time we finally got to Kathmandu- all the Nepali people, from those at the church to those in the taxi, had been lovely and friendly, and I truly appreciated getting to meet them.
Unfortunately, my first night in Kathmandu I ate something questionable (what exactly is unknown). I arose the next morning feeling quite hung-over, despite the lack of any real alcohol the night before, and the nausea only worsened as I tried to stagger through the things I needed to do in Kathmandu. Soon I was in bed in my hotel, hoping to sleep it off, but ended up having one of the worst nights I can remember with a high fever, terrible headache (probably from dehydration), and a very grumpy stomach. I arose the next morning grateful to still be alive, and cautiously ate some breakfast with the hopes that I could replace all the electrolytes I must’ve sweated in the night. Salted toast? Sugar-thickened tea? Sign me up!
I spent the rest of my time in Kathmandu lying low- applying for jobs online, buying some books and dvds, and basically waiting until I felt better so I could get back to the village. I did get one great surprise- Sean, one of my old Alaskan friends, is coming to visit over his spring break in only 2-3 weeks! I invited lots of people to come to Nepal with me, but didn’t expect anyone (except my lovely father) to take me up on the offer. I’m excited to have someone to help me with photo class, and to explore Kathmandu and Sankhu with a partner in crime- doing it alone has never really appealed to me.
I am back in Sankhu, and far less excited to go back to Kathmandu in the future. Likewise, rice and curry seem newly delicious, and especially secure in comparison to the possibly bacteria-ridden food in Kathmandu. It took me two days to get over the physical exhaustion that accompanied my sickness, but yesterday I was finally up. I did my favorite chore, laundry, in the stream and got involved in an impromptu water fight, which I definitely, definitely lost. Someone even dumped water on me from a second-story window as I chased one of the perpetrators with a pot of water from the kitchen. Soon I was hanging up another set of clothes next to my laundry on the line- still giggling and out-of-breath from the chase.
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great !
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