Extremely complicated.
My experience in Nepal has taught me so much about what it means to be an NGO (Non-governmental organization). Previously my only interaction with NGO's was signing petitions for the Sierra Club and other large U.S. based conservation societies. Here in Nepal I've gotten to be in direct contact with many NGO's, as well as spending the last 3 weeks working for one.
Many NGO's are a name only. In Nepal I've been told that there are 84,000 NGO's, while walking around the streets of Kathmandu I saw posters for NGO registration and website building. Of these 84,000 NGO's in a country with a population of about 30 million, 90% are based out of Kathmandu, doing very little work out in the field. These NGO's throw out words and phrases like, "sustainability," "empowerment," "helping people help themselves," "decentralization." "skill building," etc. Catching the eye of international donors, who send money but may never see the project that they're supporting. Much of this money is taken by the "middleman" NGO rather than going to the project, I was quoted 45,000 NRS a month (about $600) as a project coordinator. This is a very good salary in Nepal, thus these NGO jobs are sought out by many educated people who may not have any real desire to help.
Since Nepal opened it's doors to the world in the 1950's foreign aid has come pouring in, and yet the money isn't reaching the villages, before the 1990's all the foreign aid went through the government before being given to different projects, it's known that many of these funds were put directly into the royal coffers. Only in the 1990's were NGO's able to directly receive funds from international donors, and many of these organizations followed in their governments footsteps.
I finished reading a book called Fatalism and Development: Nepal's struggle for modernization by Don Bhandur Bista. This book, although dated, helped to explain so much of what I've been experiencing while working these past three weeks with USSHA foundation. Not only have NGO's been seen as a desirable job for the educated middle class but Nepal itself poses many challenges to those who do want to make a change. Bista's book basically states that since the influx of the Indian Brahmin class who were fleeing the Muslim jihad centuries ago, a "fatalism" has gripped the country. This "fatalism" is based upon the idea that people are born into positions and this determines what they will get from life. Bista states some things that would be extremely difficult for a foreigner to say, let alone see, for example. That education is a goal in itself, rather than a means, and people get education expecting to thus receive a salaried government or more recently NGO job. I've directly experienced this, people not caring what major, just wanting the title. Her also points out some things like, Nepal has a large amount of trained agricultural experts, but why aren't their any significant improvements. He says because the people who are being educated have no intention of going into the field but receiving a government job. This education as a means comes from the idea of "Fatalism," in the past, education was reserved for the elite, who because of their positions in society held high positions. People seek education to reach the same position. In terms of NGO's he reserves a whole chapter among which he points out that the money that does go to the projects, and the projects that are completed often aren't utilized by the communities because they fail to make the connection between the "outsiders" who initiated the project, and their own community property. Without going further this book opened my eyes to the difficulty of development in Nepal. Bista's conclusion is that the resources at the community and village level have to be tapped, people have been living for centuries in amazingly harsh climates, using the communities support to thrive. It is in these decentralized communities where this "fatalism" hasn't reached, people have the desire to improve their lives and know how best to do it.
Opening up the Nepali magazine "The Boss" I found an article titled "US foreign Aid Hinders More Than It Helps" although focusing on Government programs it reaches the same conclusion, that foreign aid isn't necessarily beneficial to those whom it is supposedly helping.
Now, back to my own experience. After three weeks in Rivan, working with an NGO I've gotten to directly experience many of the difficulties that NGO's face, as well as the unorganized nature of this NGO. The concept is wonderful, but in practice they are struggling on how to really reach and benefit the community. I've spent the last three weeks, conducting a survey, talking with community members and doing my best to get the ball moving. It's been hard and frustrating, but an amazing experience nonetheless.
One of the biggest problems that I see in Nepal, is the exportation of the best and brightest young Nepalis. Since I've been in Nepal I've been astounded at the vast majority of youth who have only one goal, to go abroad. The desire is almost the same across the board. Many see Nepal in a negative light and dream of going to the U.S or Europe for school and work. Many Nepalis go abroad to work and support their families back home, the amount of Nepalis in Malaysia, Saudi Arabia, Dubai and other countries is huge. The fact is that there just aren't the opportunities for work here in Nepal. As the population increases and weather patterns become more extreme subsistence farming is becoming more and more difficult for families. Plus, who wants to work all year for only food, when you can work for money which allows you to purchase other goods. USSHA foundation is trying to tackle this very issue by creating jobs within the community, empowering the youth, creating a market for handicrafts and starting a homestay program.
Everything is just in the budding stages, but the potential is there. I was able to help by offering my perspective as a foreigner, looking from without on the situation. I was originally supposed to help them design a permaculture farm, but the idea was scrapped because of it's lack of compatibility with the projects goals. Instead I spent my days talking with people and trying to get an accurate view of what they need and how USSHA Foundation can best address those needs.
I'm filled with a new perspective and inspiration. If I had a longer visa, I think I would jump in and commit myself to this project and see the change happen. There is so much work to do here as well as all over the globe. I've just got to remember that it all begins with a smile.
Monday, August 22, 2011
Friday, August 19, 2011
Paint Doctor
The red cap I traded with a man on the first night at the Gumpa, it's the generic cap that many Sherpa people wear, it can also be turned into a face mask, by flipping the bill down.
Trekking Chronicals Part 2: The Paint Doctor
When I arrived at the last settlement in Langtang Valley, Kyanjin Gumpa, I was invited to stay a little longer. If I painted Gyalbu’s Tibet Guest house. On my wander up the beautiful valley, I did my best to stay in smaller guest houses, this meant that I was often eating with the families and sharing more space with them. When I arrived in Kyanjin Gumpa I hadn’t slept the night before, dancing through the night, and I had beaten many of the locals back home. The town was silent. I found Tibet Guest House at the end of the town, the town is 100% guest houses, with people there, Gyalbu, his wife and small daughter.
On the second evening Gyalbu asked me to help him stack firewood. As we were tossing wood into the new pile he asked me. Do you want to stay and paint the windows of my guest house? I said sure. So the next day I found myself scraping, sanding and painting the windows of his guest house. I was saving 500 Rupees a day, about $7. But hey, not many people can say that they’ve painted at almost 4,000 meters! When I was questioning myself and why the heck I was hanging out of a second story window by one hand, and attempting to paint it with the other. I would switch the focus of my eyes to the reflection of the mountains in the glass. I was getting to stay in one of the most beautiful and peaceful places on the planet, during some surprisingly clear weather for the season. It was clear almost all of the five days that I spent there. Amazing, considering that for the rest of my trip, and the days before it rained all the time.
Gyalbu, the guest house owner, worked me hard. I worked 8 hours a day 4 of the 5 days that I spent there. It was great because Gyalbu helped me with my Nepali, which was shabby at that time and fed me well. The experience was wild, for a couple days I was the only foreigner in Kyangin Gumpa. There were some things that happened while I was there. Sadly one of them was the death of two people, one Japanese tourist and her Nepali guide. They tried to tackle the Ganja La Pass which is usually attempted at other times of the year. They died in an Avalanche. Their cook and porter returned bringing the news.
One day about 30 Nepali armed police and army walked up over the hill, fully armed, with dogs and dragging 3 US army personel who weren’t acclimated at all. They were doing a missing person search funded by the American Embassy, last year one American woman went missing in the Langtang Valley. I bluntly asked one of the huffing and swearing U.S. Army guys, “What’s with all the guns and glory.” He said that it was training for the army, to practice carrying all their equipment. I have seen Nepali Army carrying mortars, and bazookas as they trudged along a road.
The time in Kyanjin turned out to be perfect. Gyalbu was happy with my work, I was thorough and meticulous. The person who painted previously was not. He called me the paint doctor, he gave me a white coat of his so my clothes wouldn't get covered in paint, bu to no avail. He asked me multiple times whether I’d trained in painting back in the states. I told him that as a gardener I've done almost all the work under the sun. On the fourth day I finished all the paint. The next morning he surprised me by telling me that I’d have to go since there was no more paint and no place to buy it, thus no work. It was the right amount of time to be worked that hard, I don't think I would have wanted to stay longer and it just so happened that there was another ceremony happening at the Gumpa in Langtang. I packed up my stuff, headed down the trail, and spent another night dancing, singing and having a grand time with my friends. After a week in the Valley, and the knowledge that I was painting, people were even more friendly to me. I did my best that time to really help out. I served people food, dragging buckets of curd, curry and rice to many hungry people and of course, washing dishes in the dead of night.
On the second evening Gyalbu asked me to help him stack firewood. As we were tossing wood into the new pile he asked me. Do you want to stay and paint the windows of my guest house? I said sure. So the next day I found myself scraping, sanding and painting the windows of his guest house. I was saving 500 Rupees a day, about $7. But hey, not many people can say that they’ve painted at almost 4,000 meters! When I was questioning myself and why the heck I was hanging out of a second story window by one hand, and attempting to paint it with the other. I would switch the focus of my eyes to the reflection of the mountains in the glass. I was getting to stay in one of the most beautiful and peaceful places on the planet, during some surprisingly clear weather for the season. It was clear almost all of the five days that I spent there. Amazing, considering that for the rest of my trip, and the days before it rained all the time.
Gyalbu, the guest house owner, worked me hard. I worked 8 hours a day 4 of the 5 days that I spent there. It was great because Gyalbu helped me with my Nepali, which was shabby at that time and fed me well. The experience was wild, for a couple days I was the only foreigner in Kyangin Gumpa. There were some things that happened while I was there. Sadly one of them was the death of two people, one Japanese tourist and her Nepali guide. They tried to tackle the Ganja La Pass which is usually attempted at other times of the year. They died in an Avalanche. Their cook and porter returned bringing the news.
One day about 30 Nepali armed police and army walked up over the hill, fully armed, with dogs and dragging 3 US army personel who weren’t acclimated at all. They were doing a missing person search funded by the American Embassy, last year one American woman went missing in the Langtang Valley. I bluntly asked one of the huffing and swearing U.S. Army guys, “What’s with all the guns and glory.” He said that it was training for the army, to practice carrying all their equipment. I have seen Nepali Army carrying mortars, and bazookas as they trudged along a road.
The time in Kyanjin turned out to be perfect. Gyalbu was happy with my work, I was thorough and meticulous. The person who painted previously was not. He called me the paint doctor, he gave me a white coat of his so my clothes wouldn't get covered in paint, bu to no avail. He asked me multiple times whether I’d trained in painting back in the states. I told him that as a gardener I've done almost all the work under the sun. On the fourth day I finished all the paint. The next morning he surprised me by telling me that I’d have to go since there was no more paint and no place to buy it, thus no work. It was the right amount of time to be worked that hard, I don't think I would have wanted to stay longer and it just so happened that there was another ceremony happening at the Gumpa in Langtang. I packed up my stuff, headed down the trail, and spent another night dancing, singing and having a grand time with my friends. After a week in the Valley, and the knowledge that I was painting, people were even more friendly to me. I did my best that time to really help out. I served people food, dragging buckets of curd, curry and rice to many hungry people and of course, washing dishes in the dead of night.
Wednesday, August 17, 2011
Trekking Chronicals: Gumpa Dancing
It’s now been over a month since I’ve returned from my sojourn through the Nepali hills and mountains. But there are some stories that are really too good to let go of. So many moments of joy, elation and wonder kept me bounding along just waiting to see what new adventure would be in store for me.
I left a day late, Nepal held a national strike the day I tried to leave in protest of parliaments inability to charter a new constitution. This has been years in the making, since 2006 when Nepal reclaimed democracy they’ve been waiting for a new constitution. I’ve just finished a book on Nepal’s history, and wow, it’s convoluted and crazy. All I’d ever heard of Nepal before I arrived in the subcontinent was about how beautiful this country was, how wonderful the people were and that the trekking is great. No one ever mentioned “A people’s war” that ravaged Nepal for years, killing thousands and putting Nepal in the number one position for human rights violations in the world. This all happened since 2001, we must have been too preoccupied with our own war to pay this small country any attention.
To get to the start of my trek I rode on top of a bus. Through a rainstorm, while the bus trundled along across a landslide that erased any sign of the previous road. We, on top of the bus played tug-of-war with the poor old tarp, trying to cover ourselves with the bits of it that actually offered protection, rather than just coalescing the drops and plopping them upon our already wet clothes and luggage. Needless to say it was one of the best bus rides ever.
I arrived in Syaphru Besi around 4:00 PM after a 10 hour bus ride, while everyone else checked themselves into a hotel. I hit the trail determined to get out in nature, I spent my first night underneath my tarp, cooking instant noodles and listening to the raging river tell stories to the world in a boulder moving grumble. Setting up my little blue tarp I thought of the Charter School and longed to have an army of blue tarps along with me. It was my only night of camping and it set a wonderful tune for me to bounce along to for the rest of my adventure.
I got to the town of Langtang two days later and 1,500 meters higher than just two nights before. Just as I reached the first guest house a woman told me that there would be a festival at the Gumpa, the Buddhist place of prayer, in two days. I was in no hurry, I had no time constraints, just 8,000 Nepali Rupees in my pocket ( about $113) I told the woman what my budget was and that I just need to eat what they eat, Dal Bhaat Tarkari twice a day, and I’d stay for the festival. She agreed, so I spent one lazy day washing my clothes and taking in the beautiful scenery.
In Tibetan Buddhism the soul of the deceased remains for 7 weeks, 49 days, after death. To move on to the next life and to receive a good body for the next life, the dead persons’ family holds this ceremony. To the untrained eye this seems to be in all respects a big party.
During the day I wandered up to the Gumpa to see what was happening. All throughout the day there was singing, chanting and praying being done for the deceased. The sound of the drum punctuated the high notes of the women with a force that was meant to shake the spirits. Standing outside and pearing into the dim Gumpa I could make out the weathered faces of the elderly Tibetan women. They sat crosslegged, singing and spinning their prayer wheels, pausing only to sip their tea that was constantly being passed out by their attendants.
At around 4 or 5 PM I went to the Gumpa to stay. I was told that the party goes all night, I was interested and intrigued about what was to be done. I had been told that everyone eats, drinks and dances the whole night. I was asked by multiple people whether I was going to stay up all night, I was unsure, they seemed to think that I wouldn’t be able to. They told me that they’re used to staying up all night at these ceremonies, but that dancing through the night is hard work.
Just when I arrived the first “meal” was being served, I had rice with curried vegtabes and meat, topped off with Yak curd and milk. I was served on a plate, and they gave me both the curd and milk, on the plate, it was a balancing act as I squatted with the other men outside the Gumpa eating my meal. I wandered around, talking with people and trying to get an idea of what the meaning of the ceremony really was. Men were mostly outside, chatting, playing cards and beginning to drink Chang, rice beer. The women were generally inside of the Gumpa, still chanting. I wandered my way up to the second floor of the Gumpa, there Lama’s were reading off of old scriptures, chanting and drumming. I sat down and took in the scene, the gumpa wall was old and cracking but someone had done an exquisite painting of the Tibetan deities all along one wall. The back was shelves full of scriptures wrapped in cloth, I learned later that they were brought from Tibet. It's amazing to see how they've transplanted their culture in new land, luckily fertile with the development of a trekking route.
In the 1950’s the Nepali government opened the Terai, southern plains, to development by spraying the forests with DDT eradicating malaria. Many mountain and hill people , hungry for more fertile land, picked up their families and moved south. At about the same time Tibetans began to flee Tibet after the Chinese invasion. This is purely conjecture, but before a trekking route was established the Langtang Valley wouldn’t be the best place to live. When I spoke with the Tibetans in the Langtang Valley they told me that the government gave their fathers or grandfathers the land. So, what I assume is that the Langtang Valley’s previous inhabitants, Tamang people, left for the Terai's better land and that the government gave the recently vacated land to the refugees.
Sitting upstairs, listening to the chanting, readings, drum beats and the occasional horn being blown I was awed. The intricacies of the process were unknown to me, I was an uninformed observer stuck in the moments pull. I sat there for a while taking it all in, committing the beauty, force and energy that the men performed there duties to memory. It wasn’t long after that everything started to get foggy, the foot-stomping dancing and drinking was about to begin. The downstairs had become quiet, the chanting had stopped and I was informed that after a few minute break the fun would begin.
The rest of the night turned into a blur. I danced, ate mountains of food and drank chang along with everyone else. The night became a party. Everyone was just having a good time, people were pinching, punching and tackling each other all in good fun. There was never a short supply of food, tea or alcohol. In fact it was almost forced upon everyone. The dancing was done in a ring around the bottom floor, people were sitting in the middle and the dancing went on all around. The women were in one group and the men in another. Everyone was shoulder to shoulder with their arms around each other. The steps themselves were easy but the Tibetan singing eluded me throughout the night. It was impressive, everything was call and response, the women would sing, stomping their feet in rhythm with the singing, and then the men would respond, it went on all night. There was the “refuel station” as I thought of it, one woman had picked a spot where she was offering Chang to all the dancers as they circled by her. People took turns dancing and resting throughout, but the dancing and singing ever stopped. It was explained to me that the deceased’s soul was present, an elderly woman in this case, watching if not participating in the fun. She wanted to see that we were happy, enjoying ourselves and then she too would be happy and ready to move on.
I managed to stay up through the whole thing. I found myself washing dishes at one point late in the night. In that moment, hands under snowmelt piped to in front of the Gumpa, crouching on the rocks and vigorously scrubbing the many cups, plates and spoons that were being brought as fast as I could, I thought of Country Fair. I was thinking my favorite thought, how did I get here? When I realized that I’m always trying to be a part of what’s going on. I’m not content to just be an observer, thanks to my mothers teachings of always helping out, and her genes which make me always want to. As well as my own experience, like Country Fair Teen Crew, it’s just better to tap in. So here I was, hands going white, with Tibetan women yelling at me to do a good job and to wash quicker. I laughed out loud, a huge grin on my face, this is why I’m here, to freeze my hands and to warm them around the fire laughing along with them.
The night was amazing, I learned how to dance Tibetan style, how to laugh the belly laughs that erupted from everyone, and just have a good time. People just wanted to make sure that I was having as much fun as them. It was hard to see what this had anything to do with a spirit moving on sometimes, but in hindsight I realize that it is intimately connected. These gatherings draw friends and family from all up and down the valley. People come from all over, they have fun, socialize, laugh, eat, drink and dance. It brings the community together with entirely good energy. It sounds much better than a funeral to me.
At the end of the night, when light was beginning to show in the sky and people were beginning to fade, the doors were closed by two men who refused to let people out. The dancers were dwindling when the last rite was preformed. Butter candles were lit by everyone in the gumpa and we placed them around the walls and upon the alter upstairs then the doors were open and people began to leave. Many not sleeping and walking back to there homes hours away.
I left a day late, Nepal held a national strike the day I tried to leave in protest of parliaments inability to charter a new constitution. This has been years in the making, since 2006 when Nepal reclaimed democracy they’ve been waiting for a new constitution. I’ve just finished a book on Nepal’s history, and wow, it’s convoluted and crazy. All I’d ever heard of Nepal before I arrived in the subcontinent was about how beautiful this country was, how wonderful the people were and that the trekking is great. No one ever mentioned “A people’s war” that ravaged Nepal for years, killing thousands and putting Nepal in the number one position for human rights violations in the world. This all happened since 2001, we must have been too preoccupied with our own war to pay this small country any attention.
To get to the start of my trek I rode on top of a bus. Through a rainstorm, while the bus trundled along across a landslide that erased any sign of the previous road. We, on top of the bus played tug-of-war with the poor old tarp, trying to cover ourselves with the bits of it that actually offered protection, rather than just coalescing the drops and plopping them upon our already wet clothes and luggage. Needless to say it was one of the best bus rides ever.
I arrived in Syaphru Besi around 4:00 PM after a 10 hour bus ride, while everyone else checked themselves into a hotel. I hit the trail determined to get out in nature, I spent my first night underneath my tarp, cooking instant noodles and listening to the raging river tell stories to the world in a boulder moving grumble. Setting up my little blue tarp I thought of the Charter School and longed to have an army of blue tarps along with me. It was my only night of camping and it set a wonderful tune for me to bounce along to for the rest of my adventure.
I got to the town of Langtang two days later and 1,500 meters higher than just two nights before. Just as I reached the first guest house a woman told me that there would be a festival at the Gumpa, the Buddhist place of prayer, in two days. I was in no hurry, I had no time constraints, just 8,000 Nepali Rupees in my pocket ( about $113) I told the woman what my budget was and that I just need to eat what they eat, Dal Bhaat Tarkari twice a day, and I’d stay for the festival. She agreed, so I spent one lazy day washing my clothes and taking in the beautiful scenery.
In Tibetan Buddhism the soul of the deceased remains for 7 weeks, 49 days, after death. To move on to the next life and to receive a good body for the next life, the dead persons’ family holds this ceremony. To the untrained eye this seems to be in all respects a big party.
During the day I wandered up to the Gumpa to see what was happening. All throughout the day there was singing, chanting and praying being done for the deceased. The sound of the drum punctuated the high notes of the women with a force that was meant to shake the spirits. Standing outside and pearing into the dim Gumpa I could make out the weathered faces of the elderly Tibetan women. They sat crosslegged, singing and spinning their prayer wheels, pausing only to sip their tea that was constantly being passed out by their attendants.
At around 4 or 5 PM I went to the Gumpa to stay. I was told that the party goes all night, I was interested and intrigued about what was to be done. I had been told that everyone eats, drinks and dances the whole night. I was asked by multiple people whether I was going to stay up all night, I was unsure, they seemed to think that I wouldn’t be able to. They told me that they’re used to staying up all night at these ceremonies, but that dancing through the night is hard work.
Just when I arrived the first “meal” was being served, I had rice with curried vegtabes and meat, topped off with Yak curd and milk. I was served on a plate, and they gave me both the curd and milk, on the plate, it was a balancing act as I squatted with the other men outside the Gumpa eating my meal. I wandered around, talking with people and trying to get an idea of what the meaning of the ceremony really was. Men were mostly outside, chatting, playing cards and beginning to drink Chang, rice beer. The women were generally inside of the Gumpa, still chanting. I wandered my way up to the second floor of the Gumpa, there Lama’s were reading off of old scriptures, chanting and drumming. I sat down and took in the scene, the gumpa wall was old and cracking but someone had done an exquisite painting of the Tibetan deities all along one wall. The back was shelves full of scriptures wrapped in cloth, I learned later that they were brought from Tibet. It's amazing to see how they've transplanted their culture in new land, luckily fertile with the development of a trekking route.
In the 1950’s the Nepali government opened the Terai, southern plains, to development by spraying the forests with DDT eradicating malaria. Many mountain and hill people , hungry for more fertile land, picked up their families and moved south. At about the same time Tibetans began to flee Tibet after the Chinese invasion. This is purely conjecture, but before a trekking route was established the Langtang Valley wouldn’t be the best place to live. When I spoke with the Tibetans in the Langtang Valley they told me that the government gave their fathers or grandfathers the land. So, what I assume is that the Langtang Valley’s previous inhabitants, Tamang people, left for the Terai's better land and that the government gave the recently vacated land to the refugees.
Sitting upstairs, listening to the chanting, readings, drum beats and the occasional horn being blown I was awed. The intricacies of the process were unknown to me, I was an uninformed observer stuck in the moments pull. I sat there for a while taking it all in, committing the beauty, force and energy that the men performed there duties to memory. It wasn’t long after that everything started to get foggy, the foot-stomping dancing and drinking was about to begin. The downstairs had become quiet, the chanting had stopped and I was informed that after a few minute break the fun would begin.
The rest of the night turned into a blur. I danced, ate mountains of food and drank chang along with everyone else. The night became a party. Everyone was just having a good time, people were pinching, punching and tackling each other all in good fun. There was never a short supply of food, tea or alcohol. In fact it was almost forced upon everyone. The dancing was done in a ring around the bottom floor, people were sitting in the middle and the dancing went on all around. The women were in one group and the men in another. Everyone was shoulder to shoulder with their arms around each other. The steps themselves were easy but the Tibetan singing eluded me throughout the night. It was impressive, everything was call and response, the women would sing, stomping their feet in rhythm with the singing, and then the men would respond, it went on all night. There was the “refuel station” as I thought of it, one woman had picked a spot where she was offering Chang to all the dancers as they circled by her. People took turns dancing and resting throughout, but the dancing and singing ever stopped. It was explained to me that the deceased’s soul was present, an elderly woman in this case, watching if not participating in the fun. She wanted to see that we were happy, enjoying ourselves and then she too would be happy and ready to move on.
I managed to stay up through the whole thing. I found myself washing dishes at one point late in the night. In that moment, hands under snowmelt piped to in front of the Gumpa, crouching on the rocks and vigorously scrubbing the many cups, plates and spoons that were being brought as fast as I could, I thought of Country Fair. I was thinking my favorite thought, how did I get here? When I realized that I’m always trying to be a part of what’s going on. I’m not content to just be an observer, thanks to my mothers teachings of always helping out, and her genes which make me always want to. As well as my own experience, like Country Fair Teen Crew, it’s just better to tap in. So here I was, hands going white, with Tibetan women yelling at me to do a good job and to wash quicker. I laughed out loud, a huge grin on my face, this is why I’m here, to freeze my hands and to warm them around the fire laughing along with them.
The night was amazing, I learned how to dance Tibetan style, how to laugh the belly laughs that erupted from everyone, and just have a good time. People just wanted to make sure that I was having as much fun as them. It was hard to see what this had anything to do with a spirit moving on sometimes, but in hindsight I realize that it is intimately connected. These gatherings draw friends and family from all up and down the valley. People come from all over, they have fun, socialize, laugh, eat, drink and dance. It brings the community together with entirely good energy. It sounds much better than a funeral to me.
At the end of the night, when light was beginning to show in the sky and people were beginning to fade, the doors were closed by two men who refused to let people out. The dancers were dwindling when the last rite was preformed. Butter candles were lit by everyone in the gumpa and we placed them around the walls and upon the alter upstairs then the doors were open and people began to leave. Many not sleeping and walking back to there homes hours away.
Friday, August 5, 2011
Ode to the camera
I'm sitting in the Community Resource Center in Rivan, north of Pokhora. It's quite a story of how I've come to be here. I'm working with an NGO called USSHA Foundation, somehow I've become one of the two people working here in the village. This is a great chance to learn about how NGO's work, and don't work. Because as I'm learning, the NGO sector in Nepal is hugely overblown in comparison to the work that it's actually doing in places that need it. I'm waiting for a meeting to start which will help us define what work is needed and how we can go about doing it. The meeting was supposed to start at 10:00 AM, it's now 12. The Community Resource Center, or CRC has a small library and a computer room. It's connected to solar panels on the roof, but those don't work. The internet is patchy, sometimes working, like now, and other times not. The computers were donated from Germany.
While I was in Jiri visiting Subodh my camera died. Here's what I wrote:
With a click and whir
You come to life
Emerging from your shell
A chrome dinosaur
Of a forgotten digital age
Defiant
Against planned obsolescence
You have traveled the world
Four continents and many countries
In eight well run years.
Outliving your brethren
You are tenacious
Leaping from backpacks
To tumble down Himalayan ravines
You have spent the night on a mountain top
Never complaining
Only uttering “Canon”
With manufacturers pride
My amiable companion
Helping me tell my stories
Capturing the moment
With only 3.2 megapixels
While others boast into the teens
I will miss your unbreakable, clunky frame
And the recklessness that we explored together.
My week in Jiri was wonderful, somehow subodh's mother appointed me as a cook. I helped or cooked almost all the meals while I was there. I always watch how people cook here so I can bring back the wonderful recipies when I return. Cooking at Subodh's house I got to test out some of the recipies I've seen before with the help of Subodh's mother or brother. I'm now confident that I can replicate the Nepali meal back in the U.S. even without the varied spices that can only be found here. I'm staying in another Nepali families home in the Village, I'm again watching and helping with the cooking in the morning and evenings. There is tons of work here to do, sadly, so much of it is organizational, and my language skills hinder me. This is a wonderful opportunity to learn about NGO's and how to make a larger change.
It looks like this meeting is about to get going. See you :D
As always I've got so much to write,
While I was in Jiri visiting Subodh my camera died. Here's what I wrote:
With a click and whir
You come to life
Emerging from your shell
A chrome dinosaur
Of a forgotten digital age
Defiant
Against planned obsolescence
You have traveled the world
Four continents and many countries
In eight well run years.
Outliving your brethren
You are tenacious
Leaping from backpacks
To tumble down Himalayan ravines
You have spent the night on a mountain top
Never complaining
Only uttering “Canon”
With manufacturers pride
My amiable companion
Helping me tell my stories
Capturing the moment
With only 3.2 megapixels
While others boast into the teens
I will miss your unbreakable, clunky frame
And the recklessness that we explored together.
My week in Jiri was wonderful, somehow subodh's mother appointed me as a cook. I helped or cooked almost all the meals while I was there. I always watch how people cook here so I can bring back the wonderful recipies when I return. Cooking at Subodh's house I got to test out some of the recipies I've seen before with the help of Subodh's mother or brother. I'm now confident that I can replicate the Nepali meal back in the U.S. even without the varied spices that can only be found here. I'm staying in another Nepali families home in the Village, I'm again watching and helping with the cooking in the morning and evenings. There is tons of work here to do, sadly, so much of it is organizational, and my language skills hinder me. This is a wonderful opportunity to learn about NGO's and how to make a larger change.
It looks like this meeting is about to get going. See you :D
As always I've got so much to write,
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