When back in Sankhu after a weekend in Kathmandu several things always happen. I generally spend my first day reading a lot and relaxing, probably because my time in Kathmandu, although a break from the home, is often more stressful and cluttered than being here. Along with the benefits of Western food and my own bedroom I get irritants like air and noise pollution, traffic, opportunistic salesmen and the general difficulty of getting anything done efficiently, be it finding something like spray paint, or visiting a Nepali home/organization. While my last two Kathmandu visits I managed to avoid getting sick, there is still some kind of energy recovery that is required after getting back, and yesterday I tried to eschew my guilt about spending the first half of the day reading a Terry Pratchet book and eating 1/3 of my dark chocolate store for the week.
Likely because of the pretty significant lifestyle shift in Sankhu, I also feel pretty antsy (hehe, an ant just ran across the computer screen), like there is something I need to do but have forgotten about. I have to relax back into the pace here, which is increasingly easier to do with all this practice (and my new knitting skills!). The most difficult part of adjusting comes when I shif my mind back to Nepal- the city is often where I spend the majority of my time with Westerners, do lots of e-mailing or phone calling, deal with job applications, post my letters and taste good old fashioned brown bread. This means my mind is pretty full of home or college when I return to Sankhu, and I have to make a little mental nudge back towards, for this week’s example, the final photo project, Easter egg hunts, spray painting with stencils, and rousing myself for a pre-midday hike.
This weekend in Kathmandu was a little different than usual- I taught a photo skills workshop at Raksha Nepal, the women’s organization I did office work for last time I was in Nepal. In typical Nepali fashion I showed up at the pre-arranged time, 10:00am, only to be told that half of the women were at their other job training. Could I come back at 3:00? My western half rose up like an affronted snake: “Can’t we do anything on time? I have a schedule to keep here!” I lulled the snake using my friendly eastern snake charmer side: “Chill out, man- what else do you really have to do today? Go run some errands and come back.” That’s what I did, and I’m sincerely glad I waited, as 20ish women got the chance to learn and take photos instead of only 10.
The class itself went really well too, despite my worries that I hadn’t prepared the curriculum thoroughly enough. Basically I planned on going in, drawing different parts of the camera, describing what each button does and when to use certain functions, and then showing them how to upload to a laptop. The benefit of this loose plan was that I didn’t stress in the face of small obstacles or delays. For example, very few of the women spoke English, and those who did spoke very little. Rosna, the coordinator for the organization, translated everything I said, which was difficult as she was learning everything at the same time. I found myself playing a weird kind of ‘camera charades’ meets ‘photo pictionary’ involving sound-effects, pantomiming, and lots of drawings on a white board. Despite the challenges, the class almost felt like a party- the girls were falling in love with photography, or at the very least with the new ability to take photos of each other and themselves. I would go around the room and demonstrate to each partner group (2-3 to one camera), and they would ask me questions in Nepali and we would both laugh when I just shrugged my shoulders and made an awkward face (signaling my total lack of comprehension). I actually liked the fact that the class underlined our mutual strengths and weaknesses- while the girls knew nothing about cameras, I knew little to none of their language. This made for a lot of laughter, and lots of friendly joking as I spoke utter grammatical nonsense and they accidentally took hideous pictures of their friends with double chins.
The biggest effect of the class may have been on my vanity, as all of the girls wanted to take photographs of and with me, and everyone kept complimenting me on how thin or beautiful I was, which basically meant I was blushing and embarrassed in almost every photograph. After we had finished uploading (which took awhile because people kept taking their cameras back and taking more photos thus perpetrating an unending cycling of uploading), they gave me tea, and were quite unwilling to let me go to my dinner date with a Swedish friend that evening. They kept trying to hoodwink me into spending the night, but I promised I would bring my dad for dinner when he arrived, and bid them all a warm goodbye. I left with a wide, unconquerable smile on my face, because I felt I had given those friendly, companionable women at least a small something in exchange for their incredibly welcoming kindness.
Yesterday I embarked on Part II of the spray-painting saga, as I helped five girls make stencils last night which we will spray this afternoon. Weeks ago, when we first sewed our t-shirts I told the girls we could also spray paint designs on them, but by the time I’d tracked down spray paint in Kathmandu, the final exams had started. After being asked “We spray now?” and “What color spray do you have?” twice a day all last week, I finally tried to teach some of them before I went to the city. Due to general Nepali flakiness, only Binita, one of the most excited girls, actually made her stencils, and we went up to the roof to “do spray” on her three shirts, ending up with a t-shirt saying “(Heart) U”, one with an Axe on it, and another with a Jesus Christ Cross (as she put it). A curious crowd surrounded us, and I had many more requests to “make spray” from most of the girls, something I knew would be problematic due to the crappiness of Nepali razorblades, and the necessity for spraypainting and razorblades to be highly supervised, never my strongpoint. They definitely had trouble with cutting when we made the stencils, but most everyone prevailed. Because I told them to make whatever stencil they wanted I now have in my possession a stencil with a heart with crossbones, “U n’ I” and (my favorite but the most disturbing) “HATE YOU FOREVER”.
While we did get to spraypaint most of the girls shirts, Sagar Mama (the man who runs the home) arrived in the middle of it, and definitely 'crashed the party'. He angrily spoke rapid-fire Nepali at the girls, who scrambled to clean up the stencils and newspaper on the roof. Today, when Danny, Kristel and I tried to spraypaint our own shirts with a golden calf, Kabita and Bimala leaned over the balcony and told me that they needed to talk to me because it was an emergency. Apparently Sagar had given them a 2 hour lecture yesterday, saying that if he caught them spraypainting again he would beat them in front of "the volunteers" and that the girls needed to tell me that this was bad behavior that shouldn't continue in the home. Why he couldn't deliver this message himself, like a mature individual, when he saw me multiple times and delivered the lecture nextdoor, i still don't know. This kind of incident is the ugly part of my time here- the beatings in the home are something i haven't discussed very much because I would rather not think about it. The volunteers are helpless to intervene, only sometimes using our presence as witnesses to curb violence from Sagar or the other staff. Last night at dinner one of the boys was beaten so that he bled, and then cried for the entire meal while we sat in silence, eating. Each time something like this happens I know that I will never beat my children, and wish that Nepali people didn't shrug these incidents off and say "that is our habit" or "that is Nepali culture". There are so many more ways of keeping discipline and order, I only wish that the people in the home, boys and girls alike, were more interested in exploring them.
Wednesday, March 31, 2010
Tuesday, March 23, 2010
making instead of buying, needles, school's out for the summer, a new baby in Sankhu, appreciation.
People forget how to make things for themselves in the Western world. Instead of cooking a birthday cake they pick one up at Walmart, already decorated with balloons and flowers. We buy pre-made, pre-packaged foods, clothing, furniture, houses, and so much more. Often, even if we could figure out how to make one of these things, we opt to purchase it anyways, for lack of time to actually make it ourselves. After all, as Benjamin Franklin said: time is money. Nepal is a good contrast to this lifestyle as I am constantly confronted with the homemade: breakfast and dinner is always home-cooked, the girls here crochet mind-bogglingly huge colorful blankets they refer to as ‘bedcover’, and no one at the home goes to a hairdresser or barber.
What it all comes down to really is time. For example, two days ago I learned how to knit. I’ve been bugging knit-savvy friends for years to teach me this, but never ‘found the time’, and yet it only took 5 minutes for me to get the hang of it, although obviously I was slow and clumsy with the skinny needles I’d bought in Kathmandu. Unfortunately, we soon found that the wool I’d purchased was too thick for the needles, so Kristel and I brainstormed ways to make thicker ones. We settled on two lengths of straight bamboo, which I whittled to points and sanded to a smooth finish: presto, home-made knitting needles! I shouldn’t be too proud of this accomplishment, but the truth is, I feel incredibly satisfied every time I use them, and love the 2 ½ feet of scarf I finished in just a couple of days. I can’t remember the last time I felt so proud of something that I worked on, including most of the papers I wrote at college last semester. The lesson here, at least for me, is to remember the importance of making and doing things for myself. Many of the small processes are what make life satisfying, not necessarily what we accomplish, but how we accomplish it. I could buy a scarf at the store and the result would be the same: when winter comes my neck will be warm. However there is no way I would feel nearly as much satisfaction in making a purchase and wearing it as I doubtless will with my homemade one.
While the first several days dragged after I got back to Sankhu, they have since sped up again, racing by in long conversations, clicking needles, a lovely hike, and the last days of the kid’s exams. Yesterday I gave a “Photo Exam” consisting of 10 written questions and a ‘practical’ portion, where I had them take 5 portraits, of whom I would be the judge. My main motive was to see whether or not their photography class had changed how they photograph people, as my biggest challenge when I first gave them cameras was to stop them from taking hundreds of nearly identical, oddly-angled photos of their friends in stiff poses. Looking through their photos I did notice a definite difference, although perhaps only 5 students seem to really see the camera as new kind of eye, and examine the world differently with it. Today the Science exam for the older students, and tomorrow is the first day of their month-long vacation. For the Junkiri Primary Students the last day is much more like a “fun day” with a quiz contest, sports, and general fun time. The students came up with all of the questions and answers for the contest, and I actually undermined the question “What is the biggest city in the world?” as the answer written was “London” and the teachers thought it was “Taiwan”. I told them “Hong Kong”, and was ashamed to just discover that it is actually Shanghai. Whoops! I don’t know if I should come clean!
One question all of the volunteers have been speculating on is the length of gestation for a cow, given the very pregnant cow that belongs to the home. Two days ago we stopped caring, as Laxmi, the beautiful and esteemed cow, went into labor and gave birth to her calf. One moment I was just sitting upstairs talking with some of the girls, and the next moment, after a burst of excited Nepali, we were all running down the stairs and up the hill, where children surrounded the laboring cow in fascination. The calf wasn’t yet visible, but we could see some thick pieces of placenta hanging down, which the cow broke off with her tail and self-cannibalistically ate, probably for the protein. The actual birth took several hours, and I regret not having been patient enough to wait next to the cow the entire time, but I did get to see the recently-freed, wet calf getting a thorough licking from her mother. The children crowded around the shed, peeking through holes, each others legs, and over heads to get a glimpse of this new being who suddenly entered our world. I’ve never experienced a birth before, and I felt awe at the miracle of two beings existing, where before I only saw one. After only a couple of hours she was standing on trembling legs next to her mother, leaning faintly on her maternal, stable flank. What it must’ve felt like for her, to breathe real air for the first time, see colors, hear sounds, taste milk! Birth is such an amazing thing, and I continue to feel inspired by this glimpse of it. Don’t worry mom and dad- I’m content to observe for the moment!
Here’s to birth, cool breezes on increasingly hot days, and the coffee and bread courteously given to me by the owners of this internet place. The world truly feels a lovely place.
What it all comes down to really is time. For example, two days ago I learned how to knit. I’ve been bugging knit-savvy friends for years to teach me this, but never ‘found the time’, and yet it only took 5 minutes for me to get the hang of it, although obviously I was slow and clumsy with the skinny needles I’d bought in Kathmandu. Unfortunately, we soon found that the wool I’d purchased was too thick for the needles, so Kristel and I brainstormed ways to make thicker ones. We settled on two lengths of straight bamboo, which I whittled to points and sanded to a smooth finish: presto, home-made knitting needles! I shouldn’t be too proud of this accomplishment, but the truth is, I feel incredibly satisfied every time I use them, and love the 2 ½ feet of scarf I finished in just a couple of days. I can’t remember the last time I felt so proud of something that I worked on, including most of the papers I wrote at college last semester. The lesson here, at least for me, is to remember the importance of making and doing things for myself. Many of the small processes are what make life satisfying, not necessarily what we accomplish, but how we accomplish it. I could buy a scarf at the store and the result would be the same: when winter comes my neck will be warm. However there is no way I would feel nearly as much satisfaction in making a purchase and wearing it as I doubtless will with my homemade one.
While the first several days dragged after I got back to Sankhu, they have since sped up again, racing by in long conversations, clicking needles, a lovely hike, and the last days of the kid’s exams. Yesterday I gave a “Photo Exam” consisting of 10 written questions and a ‘practical’ portion, where I had them take 5 portraits, of whom I would be the judge. My main motive was to see whether or not their photography class had changed how they photograph people, as my biggest challenge when I first gave them cameras was to stop them from taking hundreds of nearly identical, oddly-angled photos of their friends in stiff poses. Looking through their photos I did notice a definite difference, although perhaps only 5 students seem to really see the camera as new kind of eye, and examine the world differently with it. Today the Science exam for the older students, and tomorrow is the first day of their month-long vacation. For the Junkiri Primary Students the last day is much more like a “fun day” with a quiz contest, sports, and general fun time. The students came up with all of the questions and answers for the contest, and I actually undermined the question “What is the biggest city in the world?” as the answer written was “London” and the teachers thought it was “Taiwan”. I told them “Hong Kong”, and was ashamed to just discover that it is actually Shanghai. Whoops! I don’t know if I should come clean!
One question all of the volunteers have been speculating on is the length of gestation for a cow, given the very pregnant cow that belongs to the home. Two days ago we stopped caring, as Laxmi, the beautiful and esteemed cow, went into labor and gave birth to her calf. One moment I was just sitting upstairs talking with some of the girls, and the next moment, after a burst of excited Nepali, we were all running down the stairs and up the hill, where children surrounded the laboring cow in fascination. The calf wasn’t yet visible, but we could see some thick pieces of placenta hanging down, which the cow broke off with her tail and self-cannibalistically ate, probably for the protein. The actual birth took several hours, and I regret not having been patient enough to wait next to the cow the entire time, but I did get to see the recently-freed, wet calf getting a thorough licking from her mother. The children crowded around the shed, peeking through holes, each others legs, and over heads to get a glimpse of this new being who suddenly entered our world. I’ve never experienced a birth before, and I felt awe at the miracle of two beings existing, where before I only saw one. After only a couple of hours she was standing on trembling legs next to her mother, leaning faintly on her maternal, stable flank. What it must’ve felt like for her, to breathe real air for the first time, see colors, hear sounds, taste milk! Birth is such an amazing thing, and I continue to feel inspired by this glimpse of it. Don’t worry mom and dad- I’m content to observe for the moment!
Here’s to birth, cool breezes on increasingly hot days, and the coffee and bread courteously given to me by the owners of this internet place. The world truly feels a lovely place.
Tuesday, March 16, 2010
white marbles?, leisurely meetings, the nature of delay, traveling together, the best field trip ever
What do you think when you hear this sound on the roof: “THUNK THUNK
…thunkthunkthunk…THUNK”? If you’re in Kathmandu, perhaps your first (dramatic) thought is a maoist revolt. Because you’re curious to see what real warfare looks like you get out on the balcony to take a look… hmmm, it doesn’t look like a war-zone, I mean, there’s no smoke or devastation. But… are those white marbles? No, wait… maybe gumbo gobstoppers? But plummeting down from the sky? The only good explanation is hail. REALLY REALLY big hail, where hours before there was only hot sunshine and exhaust fumes. Under the deluge kids are squealing in the street, clearly much braver than I am as they scoop up round chunks of ice into a bowl and shriek when they get hit by a particularly sharp whistling projectile. Watching from the balcony of the women’s organization my mouth was open as far as it could go- what an amazing and surprising sight!
Such freak weather occurrences (which are oddly common) sum up perfectly the random nature of Nepal, and being here is probably the best experience for learning how to roll with life’s punches. In this instance I had stopped by Raksha Nepal, the women’s organization, to discuss doing a Camera Skills Workshop for the women receiving aid there. Menuka (the president) was on the phone when I got there, so I spent about 10 minutes humming to myself and sneaking looks at the cool nose ring of the other woman waiting patiently in the office. I couldn’t help but wonger how long she had been there. She looked pretty comfortable. When Menuka finally got off of the phone she had to go to a meeting, and told me to find Rosna and schedule it. All the Nepali women helped me search for Rosna and we discovered that she had gone to lunch. They said she should be back soon, so I settled down to chat and wait, clearly forgetting what ‘soon’ means by Nepali standards.
For my pains I got a tasty homemade lunch, was inside during the hailstorm, and gave one of the sweet Nepali girls my name so she could add me on Facebook (bizarre). When Rosna finally appeared our meeting lasted about five minutes, but I left perhaps two hours after arriving. The funny thing is, if this happened in the states I would feel inconvenienced and grumpy, but because it happened in Nepal I left in a cheerful mood, feeling as if my two hours were well-spent. This may be a long description of a small thing, but the experience really reflects the slower lifestyle that you encounter in Nepal, where delays such as traffic jams, lack of electricity or freak hailstorms are part of the common order.
Similar kinds of interruptions were behind my long delay in posting to my blog, so let me take a moment to apologize, especially to my poor mother, for scaring her with my neglect. Load shedding is up to 12 hours a day, although the term ‘day’ is relative given that power is more often available at indecent times of the night when no-one is really using it. My internet time was also taken up by job applications, which hopefully will yield some fruit before I get home this summer. There are some very interesting possibilities including trail work, a summer camp at Kincaid, and an internship with an awesome organization providing services to rural Alaskans. While such applications are tricky any time, they are certainly much harder in Nepal, and I increasingly appreciate the conveniences of college or home. Overall, however, I actually like living without power all of the time- the little things that we cut out for the sake of convenience can be terrible to miss. E-mails instead of hand-written letters, for example, or microwave popcorn (enough said). I hope I can remember to spare time for the details when I come home.
Part of the reason for the gap in my posts was also because I was traveling with someone for the first time. My Alaskan friend Sean came to visit me over his spring break and I found that I had a lot less time for reading or writing, something that really surprised me. My normal chill time got filled up with lots of fun moments, like showing someone else how to use a Nepali toilet, hiking to Nagarkot to try and catch a panorama sunrise of the Himalayas, and doing some exhausting present shopping in Kathmandu. Sean also got to witness and prove the Nepali rule “Everyone gets sick in Nepal” as I was sick for his first two days here and he obligingly got the same nasty stomach badness several days later. So dad: when you come, bring some strong stomach-cleansing anti-biotics (and homemade cookies of course, although for other reasons), or perhaps you could just try Nepali whiskey. Despite the illnesses Sean and I had tons of fun, and I’m glad to know that traveling with someone is so much fun, although my time in Nepal also makes me appreciate traveling alone. I am glad that I will have two or three more weeks in Nepal to work with the kids and finish up photo classes, but am also excited for my dad to arrive and to go trekking. I can’t believe how quickly the time has passed- it has been 7 weeks, and I know the remaining time is going to trick me by passing by in an eyeblink, or maybe a couple.
Projects or activities, and the process of planning them, are the culprits of this collapsed time. Ever since I started doing T-shirts and other handicrafts with the kids, new ideas have snowballed! One of my favorite memories of Nepal is definitely going to be the fieldtrip we organized for the Junkiri Primary School students. While the volunteers mostly provided the funding and the Nepali teachers did the coordinating, it was a team effort to get a tiny bus that we all packed into, and drive an hour and a half to the Nepali zoo. The whole way there they sang Nepali songs to the beat of a drum, and jumped from cage to cage in delight at all the creatures to be seen. I’ll admit, I was just as enthralled as they were by the inside of a hippo’s mouth, the deadly sharp beaks of the cranes, and the savage bite of the feeding asian hyena. Sean and I decided to treat the kids to paddle boat rides (which cost about $7.50 for everyone) and let the photo students use our cameras to take picture after picture of the animals and fish.
After the boating we got back on the bus to have a picnic at one of Nepal’s botanical gardens outside of main Kathmandu in the hills. The kids all got icecream on the bus, and my legs slowly fell more asleep from weight of the adorable Bibesh on my lap. The picnic was delicious and huge with classic nepali donuts and chickpeas accompanied with coca cola and fanta. Afterwards Sean and I organized a game of “Tigers and Deer”, our Nepali adaptation of “Sharks and Minnows”, although the kids kept cheating so they could remain Deer. When we finally climbed back on the bus it’s hard to say who was more exhausted: the kids or the volunteers. Regardless, it’s a day I will always remember, especially the small moments like passing my sunglasses around to the kids on the bus, or watching little Arti resolutely continue to stuff her face and pockets with sweets, long after she was clearly full.
…thunkthunkthunk…THUNK”? If you’re in Kathmandu, perhaps your first (dramatic) thought is a maoist revolt. Because you’re curious to see what real warfare looks like you get out on the balcony to take a look… hmmm, it doesn’t look like a war-zone, I mean, there’s no smoke or devastation. But… are those white marbles? No, wait… maybe gumbo gobstoppers? But plummeting down from the sky? The only good explanation is hail. REALLY REALLY big hail, where hours before there was only hot sunshine and exhaust fumes. Under the deluge kids are squealing in the street, clearly much braver than I am as they scoop up round chunks of ice into a bowl and shriek when they get hit by a particularly sharp whistling projectile. Watching from the balcony of the women’s organization my mouth was open as far as it could go- what an amazing and surprising sight!
Such freak weather occurrences (which are oddly common) sum up perfectly the random nature of Nepal, and being here is probably the best experience for learning how to roll with life’s punches. In this instance I had stopped by Raksha Nepal, the women’s organization, to discuss doing a Camera Skills Workshop for the women receiving aid there. Menuka (the president) was on the phone when I got there, so I spent about 10 minutes humming to myself and sneaking looks at the cool nose ring of the other woman waiting patiently in the office. I couldn’t help but wonger how long she had been there. She looked pretty comfortable. When Menuka finally got off of the phone she had to go to a meeting, and told me to find Rosna and schedule it. All the Nepali women helped me search for Rosna and we discovered that she had gone to lunch. They said she should be back soon, so I settled down to chat and wait, clearly forgetting what ‘soon’ means by Nepali standards.
For my pains I got a tasty homemade lunch, was inside during the hailstorm, and gave one of the sweet Nepali girls my name so she could add me on Facebook (bizarre). When Rosna finally appeared our meeting lasted about five minutes, but I left perhaps two hours after arriving. The funny thing is, if this happened in the states I would feel inconvenienced and grumpy, but because it happened in Nepal I left in a cheerful mood, feeling as if my two hours were well-spent. This may be a long description of a small thing, but the experience really reflects the slower lifestyle that you encounter in Nepal, where delays such as traffic jams, lack of electricity or freak hailstorms are part of the common order.
Similar kinds of interruptions were behind my long delay in posting to my blog, so let me take a moment to apologize, especially to my poor mother, for scaring her with my neglect. Load shedding is up to 12 hours a day, although the term ‘day’ is relative given that power is more often available at indecent times of the night when no-one is really using it. My internet time was also taken up by job applications, which hopefully will yield some fruit before I get home this summer. There are some very interesting possibilities including trail work, a summer camp at Kincaid, and an internship with an awesome organization providing services to rural Alaskans. While such applications are tricky any time, they are certainly much harder in Nepal, and I increasingly appreciate the conveniences of college or home. Overall, however, I actually like living without power all of the time- the little things that we cut out for the sake of convenience can be terrible to miss. E-mails instead of hand-written letters, for example, or microwave popcorn (enough said). I hope I can remember to spare time for the details when I come home.
Part of the reason for the gap in my posts was also because I was traveling with someone for the first time. My Alaskan friend Sean came to visit me over his spring break and I found that I had a lot less time for reading or writing, something that really surprised me. My normal chill time got filled up with lots of fun moments, like showing someone else how to use a Nepali toilet, hiking to Nagarkot to try and catch a panorama sunrise of the Himalayas, and doing some exhausting present shopping in Kathmandu. Sean also got to witness and prove the Nepali rule “Everyone gets sick in Nepal” as I was sick for his first two days here and he obligingly got the same nasty stomach badness several days later. So dad: when you come, bring some strong stomach-cleansing anti-biotics (and homemade cookies of course, although for other reasons), or perhaps you could just try Nepali whiskey. Despite the illnesses Sean and I had tons of fun, and I’m glad to know that traveling with someone is so much fun, although my time in Nepal also makes me appreciate traveling alone. I am glad that I will have two or three more weeks in Nepal to work with the kids and finish up photo classes, but am also excited for my dad to arrive and to go trekking. I can’t believe how quickly the time has passed- it has been 7 weeks, and I know the remaining time is going to trick me by passing by in an eyeblink, or maybe a couple.
Projects or activities, and the process of planning them, are the culprits of this collapsed time. Ever since I started doing T-shirts and other handicrafts with the kids, new ideas have snowballed! One of my favorite memories of Nepal is definitely going to be the fieldtrip we organized for the Junkiri Primary School students. While the volunteers mostly provided the funding and the Nepali teachers did the coordinating, it was a team effort to get a tiny bus that we all packed into, and drive an hour and a half to the Nepali zoo. The whole way there they sang Nepali songs to the beat of a drum, and jumped from cage to cage in delight at all the creatures to be seen. I’ll admit, I was just as enthralled as they were by the inside of a hippo’s mouth, the deadly sharp beaks of the cranes, and the savage bite of the feeding asian hyena. Sean and I decided to treat the kids to paddle boat rides (which cost about $7.50 for everyone) and let the photo students use our cameras to take picture after picture of the animals and fish.
After the boating we got back on the bus to have a picnic at one of Nepal’s botanical gardens outside of main Kathmandu in the hills. The kids all got icecream on the bus, and my legs slowly fell more asleep from weight of the adorable Bibesh on my lap. The picnic was delicious and huge with classic nepali donuts and chickpeas accompanied with coca cola and fanta. Afterwards Sean and I organized a game of “Tigers and Deer”, our Nepali adaptation of “Sharks and Minnows”, although the kids kept cheating so they could remain Deer. When we finally climbed back on the bus it’s hard to say who was more exhausted: the kids or the volunteers. Regardless, it’s a day I will always remember, especially the small moments like passing my sunglasses around to the kids on the bus, or watching little Arti resolutely continue to stuff her face and pockets with sweets, long after she was clearly full.
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