Running through villages and adventures in Kollywood

Namaste all! Things continue to go well here in Chitwan. The weather remains, for the most part, very cold and I look forward to the few hours of sunshine that we seem to get about every other day. I am feeling more and more comfortable in my little village here and have found that my novelty as "the foreigner" has, for the most part, worn off. People no longer stop and stare and kids no longer chase me down the street wanting to know my name, where I'm from, my father's name and my mother's name (strange questions, I know, but quite common here). No, now, they have asked all these things and everyone knows who I am. People now say hello and use my name, ask me how I am and where I am going. I feel like I have really become part of the community and that really feels nice. The only time this changes, however, is when I go running. One of two things happens when you go for a run through Padampokhari and the surrounding villages. If the villager is of the age of about 18 or older (and especially if they are female) they will look at you as if you are completely out of your mind. What in the world are you running for you odd odd person? their eyes seem to say. The idea of doing any kind of physical exercise for fun is completely lost on a people who's days are consumed by physical labor. However, if the individual is below 18, particularly those of the group of young boys just down the street, they will run out to the street, wave hello, cheer you on, and, quite frequently, try to race you. And when you are coming back from a long run, and that morning's dal batt is still sitting heavy in your stomach, sprinting against some of these boys of 10 or 11 years old can usually be quite defeating. But hey, I "let them win"...right? :) Two days ago I went into town with two other volunteers (Mitch and Katie) and one of our program coordinators (Bikash) to see a Kollywood movie. That's right, not Hollywood, not even Bollywood, but the Nepalese cinematic genre of Kollywood. We saw "Arrest", an action film starring Rajesh Hamal (the most famous of Kollywood actors, having apparently been in over 2000 films in his long career). He didn't have that much screen time, only a quick few minutes at the beginning and then coming in at the end to be the hero...quite a cush job. Anyway, the film was, well, comical to say the least. And yes, it was meant to be a serious action movie. None of us, save for Bikash, had a clue as to what was going on, but stayed thuroughly entertained throughout the show by the actors' cheesy expressions, constant overdone sound effects, hysterical dance sequences (which included some rather riaque clothing and dance moves [and somehow we western girls are the ones that are meant to be the sluts???] and rarely seemed to have anything to do with the movie [especially the final dance number of the movie which was set to, the only english we heard for the whole afternoon, Simon & Garfunkle's "Cecelia"]), fight scenes that looked so fake (including a man getting both arms cut off but you could clearly see his arms folded up under the "blood stained" shirt), and a girl falling into the same river twice and flailing around as if drowning only to be saved by a man who picks her up and walks out of the knee deep water (and the first time she is rescued, she emerges from the water with the lower half of a white fish flopping around out of her mouth...absolutely hilarious, and possibly a 'had to be there' type of thing to get it, but I had to mention it as an example of the random nonsensicalness of Kollywood). All in all it was a two and a half hour cinematic experience (with intermission) that left us all laughing and utterly confused. So that's it for now from my little village by the jungle. Must sign off before the electricity decides to end this post for me. Namaste!

Namaste from Padampokhari

Well, after an early morning departure from Pokhara and a thankfully uneventful bus ride (save for an uncomfotably low ceiling that added new bruises to my head with every bump in the road...again, this country was not made for tall people)...I finally arrived in Chitwan and made it to the small village of Padampokhari. And after only two days I am already feeling quite settled and excited about the months ahead. I am living in 'The Library House', and quite appropriately for me, my actual bedroom is also the library itself...pleanty of fun reading to do. The house is run by the volunteer coordinator for the area and his mother who is an amazing cook and absolutely lovely lady who takes care of us all very well. The "us" I just mentioned is the three other volunteers who are working in the community...a 24 year old guy from Sydney, a 21 year old girl from London, and a 22 year old girl from Germany. The two girls are working in the local orphanage while the guy is the other teaching volunteer. It is quite an enjoyable group of people and we get on quite well, spending much of our free time engrosed in very competitive games of rummy and uno with our host and his friends as well as nightly bonfires made of hay and bamboo. The house we share is in the middle of our tiny little village and the village is in the middle of miles and miles of fields of crops. Mainly lentils, rice, beans, and mustard. We are an hour bus ride from the nearest city, and it definitely feels extremely remote, but it is so peaceful and there is a wonderful community feel within the village. As one of the locals said "We are close, we share everything. Happiness, sadness, we share." I am truly enjoying it here. And, to make the situation even better, the teaching placement I have here is amazing. In the mornings, I ride my wonderful bike "Bessy" (she's just like an old cow, big and clunky, but dependable), along the gravelly dirt roads to another village just 20 minutes away to a man's house. This man has set up a morning English session for some of the less fortunate kids of the local area (by less fortunate, I mean that this is a group of 18 kids who are all of the lowest caste or orphans and therefore cannot afford any other schooling). They range from 5-13 and we meet every morning in the attic space over this man's kitchen. And they are awesome! These kids are all so bright and desperately want to learn everything they can. It is so refreshing to have a group of kids who are all craving that knowledge. We meet for two hours every morning and after just two days I am already feeling like they are really learning and understanding a lot of what I am saying. After class in the morning, I head back home and have the whole midday free to explore the village and meet some of the people, all of whom are just so warm and welcoming. In two weeks time, once another volunteer who lives in another house in the area leaves, I will be taking her teaching position at a local school during the midday, but until then, I get to explore and learn more about my new home :) Then, in the evenings, the other teaching volunteer from Sydney and I run a two hour English tutorial for four little boys in our village (all about 10-12 years old). They are amazingly bright as well and they just pick up everything we teach so quickly. During this time, I have noticed some other children hanging around, trying to see what we are doing, especially some of the village girls. I think one of my first big projects here will be to try and get a group of girls to participate in these evening lessons as well. So that's life at the moment in Chitwan. I will definitely be taking the opportunity at some point while i'm here to visit the jungles and try and see some of the wildlife...but for now I am just loving my village, the people in it and all the wonderful kids that I get to spend time with every day.

Last one from Pokhara, pt 2

Just a quick couple updates on the education side of things here that have left me quite optimistic for the future education of the kids that I have been working with. Yesterday, the district supervisor came to assess some of the teachers at our school. During one of his breaks we got to talking and he asked me about my time in Nepal and what I thought about the school. And I was completely honest. I told him all my concerns and where and how I thought things could be improved. And he was quite impressed with everything I had to say...so much so that he had me sit in on all the evaluations of the day, give my opinions of the teachers, and even asked me to keep in contact with him to share future thoughts about how the schools in the district could improve. He really seems like he wants to make some good, positive changes, and that was quite uplifting to see. Then today, on my final day at the school, I had the chance to approach one of the head teachers to discuss one big concern...his physical abuse of the students. I asked him why he did it and if he really felt it was effective. I tried to convey, as nicely, but directly, as I could that it really is not acceptable to ever touch a child in such a manner and suggested several other ways to go about punishing children for their misbehavior (i.e. detention during playtimes or extra homework) but never, never hitting a child. I also tried to make him see how him showing that hitting was appropriate was not only physically hurting the children, but also setting an example for them that it was okay to hit others and showed how many of his students were running around the playground hitting each other. I honestly think he took this all to heart and he seemed sincere in his plans to do better in the future. Fingers crossed but I think I made some good progress. All in all it was a positive final two days in Pokhara...and now...off to Chitwan :)

One last one from Pokhara

Firstly...Happy New Year everyone! Some of you still haven't quite made it to 2011 yet, so let me tell you, from what I can see so far, it looks like it's going to be a great year. Here's hoping, right :) Okay, so like the title says, this is my last post to you all from the wonderful area of Pokhara. On Tuesday I will be heading off to the Chitwan region in southern Nepal to begin my next teaching placement. It's been a great month here in and around Pokhara and I am really looking forward to see what the next experience brings. But, so that it will not be easily forgotten, Pokhara definitely gave me an excitement filled final week. There was copious amounts of blood and pleanty of celebration (odd combination, I know, and I promise one wasn't because of the other). So here we go...my final week in Pokhara...Unfortunately, it began with some of the blood shedding. On Sunday, while at school, one of my favorite little three year olds, Amsita, was running across the campus, pencil in hand. And, as three year olds do, she tripped and fell. Sadly, this sent the pencil in her hand straight into her neck as she fell to the ground. And with that came the blood. Oh the blood, and the screaming. (Just as a side note to all those who might not know me that well, blood and I have a very shakey history...it's been a constant battle in my life and, for the most part, it has won...the sight of it frequently sending me into a nice little fainting spell crashing to the floor...However...somehow, thankfully...I was able to keep my head about me and stayed relatively calm in the situation.) So, with thumb pressed over the hole in her neck, and doing my best to keep the screaming and writhing girl as still as possible, I looked up to see the majority of the teaching staff staring back at me blankly. 'How close is the hospital?' I asked in my broken mixture of Nepali and English. Which prompted them to begin discussing amongst themselves whether or not she needed to go to the hospital!!! Do we need to take her to doctor? they asked me. Gee...I don't know...there is a little girl here whos white shirt is now mostly red, she is screaming in pain, and I have blood pumping out from between my fingers...I'm not sure...let's take our time and DISCUSS THIS FURTHER!!! Not that I really said this so angrily to them, but I think I tried to convey that yes, it was quite important to get her to the hospital now. So, one of the male teachers reached down, scooped her up, and headed towards the front of the school to catch a taxi into the city. Meanwhile, I was on his heels, trying to get across to him that he really shouldn't be swinging her around so much, try to keep her stable, and dear God keep your thumb over the wound (versus holding her away from your body and letting the blood flow)... I truly had fears, as the taxi drove away, that she wouldn't even make it to the hospital. My dreams that night were filled with Amsita's screaming face and, yes, blood. But fear not readers, the next morning that brave little soldier came marching into school, sucking on a lollipop and showing off her massive bandage. She was the center of attention and absolutely loved it. To the rest of the kids she was a hero. It was just wonderful to see her little smile again.
The first bit of celebration came later in the week when, as per Nepalese tradition, it was time for the daughter of the family I'm staying with to return to her home. In Nepal, when a woman has a baby, she goes and stays with her parents for 2 months so that they can help her take care of the child and give her a chance to rest from all her household duties. But, come this week, Didi's two months were up and so it was time for her and her children to return to the house that they share with her husband and his parents. The night before, many of the women in our village came over to our house and helped make multiple different kinds of fried breads. (Delicious to say the least) And we made piles and piles of them which Didi would take back and distribute to her husband's family and his entire village (kind of an extension of the dowry system is how it was explained to me). And so, the next day a group of us set out, with all the breads and all of Didi's luggage, on a trek back to her home. About a half hour walk it would be, I was told. (I have come to take any estimate of time I am given here with a massive grain of salt). The grueling uphill climb, loaded with bags of heavy luggage lasted over an hour. But she was returned to her home and then we returned to ours, where the other bloodshed for the week occured...
As a quick background, the family I am staying with belongs to the Brahmin caste. The highest level in the Nepalese caste system. And, as members of this caste, they are not allowed to kill an animal. (Older, more traditional members of the community won't even eat animal flesh, but the younger generations are a bit more liberal thinking and, really, when you reach a certain level of poverty, are you really willing to pass up any kind of food??) So, in the past, when the kids of the family were to eat chicken, a village member of a lower caste would have to kill it for them. However, on this occassion, no one else was around at the time that the family rooster was to be killed. And so, I was asked if I would (and I quote) "do the sacrifice of the coq". (Let us pause a moment to allow the extreme feminists of the world to let out a joyful cheer). And I, somewhat hesitantly, said I would. I was handed the large curved knife, the rooster was laid across a wooden plank, I held the head and the son held the body. (He can't kill it, but he was certainly willing to show me exactly where and how to do it, haha) And, after a few quick blows, the coq was beheaded and I sat, somewhat dazed, hands covered in blood for the second time that week. I was, however, rewarded for my bravery with large portions of the rooster meat at both dinner that night and breakfast the next morning.
And, to end the week on a high note, we celebrated, with the rest of the world, the ringing in of 2011. (While it's not technically the Nepalese New Year, which occurs in March and will be ringing in the year 2068 this year, the Nepalese people seem not to be ones to miss out on an opportunity to throw any kind of party) And celebrate they did. Pokhara has been having a large street festival all week and last night, New Years Eve, was the final night of jubilation and merriment. There were food stands galore, balloons, flashing lights, carnival games, and loud music pumping from all the clubs along the city's main street. To say it was a festive atmosphere would be quite an understatement. And even the constant rain that fell for the majority of the evening could not hinder the spirits of the locals or tourists who partied together into the wee hours of the morning. It was a wonderful evening, spent with good friends and good drinks.
And that is how I leave Pokhara...it has been an amazing ride thus far and I can't wait to see what's around the corner. See you in Chitwan :) Namaste!

Traditions of Christmas

As many of you know, I'm quite the fan of Christmas (to say the least). So, not surprisingly, a few of you were very shocked when you found out that I would be away during Christmas in a country that doesn't really celebrate the holiday at all. (To give some quick background here, Christianity doesn't even rank in the top 5 religions in Nepal. In a census of the population, Christians fall into the 1% of the country's people catagorized as "other"). But fear not, I was still able to maintain some of the religion's, and my own, Christmas traditions. To begin, we start with some Biblical similarities. There was a long journey from a small village to the town of Pokhara (insert Bethlahem here). Differently this time though, and thankfully, there was room at the inn. And an amazing hot shower which I'm pretty sure Mary would have appreciated and enjoyed as much as I did (I believe I emerged about 2 kilos lighter from all the dirt that was removed). And, as the story goes, there was livestock all around. (A cow is even meandering past the window as I write this.) And, well, thats about where the Biblical traditions end. Now on to more personal, familial traditions that I was still able to carry over. It started with a trip to church on Christmas Eve. I know! I actually found a church. About a half hour walk from town there was a small building serving the tiny Christian population of Pokhara (and, probebly many of the city's tourists). There was no service going on, but the lovely minister said we were more than welcome to stay a while and enjoy the decorations. (Let me break here to tell you that the Nepalese people, always wanting to please visitors, have gone out of their way in Pokhara to do up Christmas. I think they believe it is more of a party in the streets, festival type celebration than it really is. Most businesses in the tourist strip, especially restaurants, were filled with decor...balloons, streamers, lights and more tinsel than I've ever seen. Most of these were in anything but Christmas colors (i.e. lots of pastels), but the effort was there. I even saw a few waiters wearing santa hats!) But back to church...we stayed a while, prayed a bit, and then headed back to town for a Christmas Eve feast. Merry Christmas and Mexican food! Oh the food from the gods! Not really a family tradition but I think it's high time it became one :) And it was delicious, and actually came reletively close to tasting like authentic Mexican food. But anything smothered in the amount of cheese that these dishes were has my vote :) Then after being thuroughly stuffed (a grand and time honored Christmas tradition) we headed back to the hotel. There I got to open my one present (another family tradition)(it was actually just a piece of chocolate, but it was unwapping something, so I think it counts) and had a hot buttered rum delivered to my room (very Christmassy and the closest thing I was going to get to eggnog here). And that sent me it to a lovely sound sleep. I thoroughly enjoyed a "silent night". This morning I awoke and headed to the nearby bakery where I got my cinnamon roll (not fresh out of the oven and dripping in wonderful warm frosting like at home, but close). And now I sit here, eating my Christmas breakfast, looking out at the snowcovered mountains (hey! a white Christmas! something many of you only "dream of") and await wonderful discussion with family and loved ones. So that's it :) I hope you all are having a very Merry Christmas and all your traditions are being fulfilled as well.

What can you say when you shouldn't say anything?

I have seen a lot in my short time in Nepal. Far more, I believe, than the average tourist would see in double the time. Living with a native family and exposing yourself to the day to day ins and outs of the Nepalese lifestyle truly lets you in to the culture and shows you a more intimate side of life. With this comes great blessings. I have grown very close to the family I live with and many of the children at my school, my knowledge of the language has grown exponentially, and I have learned a great deal about things in life that I never even knew existed. However, with this intimacy comes exposure to some of the less pleasant things in life...things I never expected (naieve as it may have been) and don't really enjoy seeing (to put it lightly). Above all in this category is the somewhat overwhelming amounts of child abuse and endangerment that seems to be quite prevelant here. In the home (where a nightly ritual has the baby screaming for ages), at school (where physical punishments seem to be the norm), even on the streets (where riding with your child on your lap while speeding down the street on the back of a motorcycle is typical). It is far from anything I have ever experienced and beyond what I was raised to believe is acceptable. In fact, I have spent most of my teen and early adult years working and volunteering with agancies and foundations that fight this kind of treatment of children. The whole reason I'm in Nepal in the first place is to help better the lives of children. So what does one do when you come from a culture where beating a child is punishable by jail time and go to a culture where it is not only accepted, but a large part of some of their most traditional events? As an outsider, it is not really my place to step in. Or is it? They truly believe that much of this abuse will make the child stronger (as for the motorcycle incidents, I think it must be purely for convenience). But for the other bits, they do believe it is for the child's own benifit. And, with years and years of these techniques behind them, they do have plenty of evidence on their side. They all seem to grow up to be quite strong individuals. But I would hope that this could be achieved without the brutal attacks throughout childhood. However, as visitors, are we right to step in? Or do we accept it as a piece of the culture that we must respect as their own? I must say it is quite difficult to hear the nightly screams of the baby, or watch the child being slapped at school, and keep quiet. Very difficult.

We're going on a picnic!

"Alright boys and girls, we're going on a picnic tomorrow. Remember to back your sack lunches with your peanutbutter and jelly sandwich, a few carrot sticks, a couple chocolate chip cookies and a juice box. And please remember to write your name on the outside of your sack. The bus will be here in the morning to drive us to the (park/beach/zoo etc.) so don't be late. Oh and make sure your parent has signed the permission slip." That's a picnic right? At least the ones I knew growing up. We let me tell you, boys and girls, that is NOT the way they do picnics in Nepal. A Nepalese school picnic is unlike anything I had or, I'm sure I can safely say, any western school kid has ever experienced. It started early yesterday morning when all the younger kids (this picnic was for the younger half of the school, so kids aged 3-9) and the teachers met at the front of the school. It was actually quite interesting to see all the kids without their uniforms on (casual day for picnic day you see). Many of them I barely recognized they looked so different. We then set about collecting the necessary items for the picnic from the schoolyard and surrounding homes. This included (and this is where things start to get real different) pots, pans, buckets, bags of food (and I mean massive shopping bags, no brown paper bags here) and loads of wood (for the fire of course!). We then loaded it all onto, nope, not the bus, ourselves. And then set out for the picnic site. The spot for the picnic turned out to be a mountain top about a half hour walk from the school. Imagine if you will a parade of youngsters and their teachers all carrying loads of assorted goods, weaving their way through villages and over rockpiles. Even the little ones joined in, carrying one large pot between two kids. Then we got to the mountain and had to scale, again with arms full of very heavy, in my case, wood, up the mountain to where our picnic would be. And there was no trail to speak of. It was a clammouring through brush and ocassionaly stumbling upon a few stones that seemed to form a few steps. Not an easy task with loaded arms and three year olds to look after. But we finally made it. I threw down my bag of wood and rejoiced that we had finally made it. Getting to a Nepalese picnic is, well, no picnic. I even had a chance to look around at the beautiful scenery...these people sure can choose a good location...before I heard "Megan, come for pani!" (water). Yes, we had gotten everything up the hill, including empty buckets which all the women, including myself and Jana, had to carry back down to the nearby village, fill with water, and carry back up to the picnic site. What else were we going to drink and cook with. I think that mountain grew about a mile higher when I returned with my bucket full of water (to be honest, by the time I got to the top it was really more like half full and must of my clothes were quite soaked from all the spillage). And now, the cooking began, also the women's work. We peeled and chopped our way through piles of peas, potatoes, tomatos, ginger, garlic, onions, and radish while the male teachers prepared the fire. In the massive pot it all went along with (praise the Lord!) chicken! The first meat i've had since I left home I think. And while this was all cooking, the massive speaker, which one of the teachers had also carried all the way up the mountainside, began playing music and the kids were dancing their little hearts out. And the teachers all joined in as well. It was mostly Nepali folk and pop music, but then something came on that completely threw me...Folks, I have spent the past year in the Western world doing my best to avoid hearing anything by this artist. I knew his name and had heard a short clip on the news of his hit sing, but was able to avoid any further exposure...but here, on a mountain in the middle of Nepal, Justin Beiber finally caught up with me. And the kids loved him! The song played at least seven times throughout the day and it was so funny to watch them all dance and "sing along" to words they didn't even understand. So we danced and ate and danced and ate some more. At one point while we were all eating some of the best veggie curry and coconut fried rice I have ever had, the school principle came up and filled mine and Jana's glasses with what, to me, appeared to be apple juice. Without a second thought I downed about half of it in one gulp. Ladies and gentlemen, rather than the expected apple juice, I now had a mouthful of pure, straight up whiskey! Quite shocking when you're not expecting it and I provided all the teachers with quite a laugh. They all were thuroughly enjoying the two litre Mountain Dew bottle full of the stuff being passed around their little circle for the rest of the day :) Guess teachers need a little pick-me-up on Picnic Day. And then came the clean up. No just throwing your brown bag in the nearby trashcan. We had to wash all pots, pans, and utinsils, and then burn the pile of rubbish that we had left over (mostly the paper plates we ate off). And then, as the sun began to set, we headed back to school. At least the load heading back was a bit lighter as we had cooked, eaten, or burned most of what we took with us. As we walked, the snow on the mountains that surrounded us began to change to lovely hues of orange and pink. Absolutely incredible. So that was picnic day. Completely exhausting, but also totally fun. Namaste from Sarangkot :)