"Sophia. You really have 10 husbands?"

So, since Mr. Narayan couldn’t host me at his house, one of the female teachers, Sita, extended the invitation. Since I’d brought a small bag thinking I would be away for the night, I was all ready to go and hopped on the back of Sita’s motorbike after school to head to her home.

We had a quiet drive dodging goats, roosters and dogs along the bumpy, dusty road past children on their way home from school, rice and lentil fields, small huts and eventually into the more populated town of Bharatpur. After being quiet for about five minutes, and possibly stringing the words together appropriately to ask the prying question, Sita said in what I would notice was her way of stating my name and then asking a question. “Sophia.” “Yes?” “You have ten husbands?” What must they think of this loose, foreigner!?

When we arrived her forewarned “Very old” mother and father in law were there to greet us as well as her husband and 2 year old baby boy.

As I struggled to stay awake reading my book, Sita came into my room and said “Sophia. You come with me.” I was hoping she was taking me to a more comfortable bed, but as I stood up, she motioned that we were going outside. “I can wear this?” I asked, referring the hideosouly unflattering maxi dress she’d stuffed me into to cover as much of my skin as possible to ensure that I would properly swelter in my sleep. “Yes. Wait.” She snatched a towel that was hanging behind the door and wrapped it around my waist, tying the two ends together at my navel, and rolling it down so it would hold and give the whole maxi-look a new dynamic. We sat out on the porch as half the street walked by and stopped in for a chat and a chance to stare at the foreigner in the hideous dress.

After conversation inevitably turned to me and my single-ness, Sita told the story about me telling the kids I had 10 husbands. The crowd was amused, if a little confused and Sita retreated into the house only to return wit h10 red bangles that she tried to put on my large hand. After the first two cheap plastic circles broke, she fetched some grease and tried folding my fingers together like an accordian, eventually sliding the bangles onto my wrists; 5 on each side. “There, one for each husband!” I exclaimed (uproarious laughter from the crowd).

As I was sitting outside on the step, reading my book as I waited for Sita to prepare for school, I was summoned inside. “Sophia. You come here.” “Yes?” I wandered into my room where Sita was standing in front of the mirror with a tube of hooker-pink lipstick that should only be worn by ladies after 2am. She motioned for me to apply after she had smeared it onto her own face and was wiping away the enlarged clown-smile she had drawn on half her face.

“Ummm…hmmm, ya know I don’t usually wear lipstick.” She continued to hold the tube in front of me, clearly thinking that it was about time I start. “Okie dokie.” Why the hell not? Can I keep the maxi dress, too?

I asked if we could get a photo of the entire family and as I was waiting for everyone to assemble on the step, Sita’s father-in-law spoke to me in Nepali, gesturing with his hands and looking down the road like he was telling me to get the hell out of his house and never come back. One of the neighbours, a guy my age who spoke fairly good English, translated that “He says he wants you to come back again.” I’d learned the night before that this man who stood up and sat down with the agility of a 10 year old, was actually 85 and healthy as a horse, does his walking and exercises in the morning bright and early and eats properly and doesn’t smoke. I bet he gets into the whiskey when the time is right, though.

"Yes, I have 10 husbands" ~ Wednesday, September 18, 2013

Today was quite a very full day! Ranjan, Swapna & Maru were at Swapna’s parents’ house celebrating her brother’s 10th birthday so it was just Ama & her husband at the house. I awoke around 6:00am, stayed in bed until 7:00 (really can't come alive around here!) and had a shower to cool down (the power was out) because I was stale and sticky with the night’s sweat. I had good intentions of a yoga session, but I was lazy after a few stretches and wanted to keep reading my book, Shantaram so I spent most of the morning engrossed in it. I was snacking on my sesame crackers, bananas and peanut butter and really wanting a nice hot chai tea, but I feel bad going to the house expecting someone to make it for me. I also don’t know if it’s acceptable for me to make my own (or how) so I just stayed put. I wasn’t sure if Ama would want to make breakfast for me or not (again, not wanting to expect it) because I think she and her husband eat very early in the morning shortly after they wake up around 3am or something ridiculous like that.

I was lying across the bed with my hair in a towel and my head by the window, reading my book when I could sense eyes above me. As I looked up and backwards, there was Ama’s face, peering in the window.

“Oh hello!”

She made the motion for food so I hopped up and joined her and her husband in the entry way to the kitchen for the largest breakfast I’ve ever had; potato curry, half a kilo of rice, a bowl of dhal, a big scoop of this crushed maize and water dough stuff, a scoop of tomato chutney and a serving of cooked spinach. I thought I was going to bust. I literally felt sick for about 3 hours after because I was so full, but it was delicious.

As I stood to try to take my dish out back to clean, Ama insisted I put it down. She would clean. I thanked her and headed back to my room to get ready for school and Buwa said “School now?” as I walked by, “Yes! School now!” I went into the bathroom, leaving the door open and had just squatted to pee, when I heard the door to my room squeak and a little voice say “Sophia?” I quickly pulled my pants back up and went out to see one of the little boys from class five, Uman, who was hoping to escort me to school. I asked him to give me a minute to pack my bag (and pee in peace) and joined him and 7 others outside who were all waiting to walk me to school. We picked up a few on the way, the little girls who live next door and are Ranjan’s nieces; one in Class 6, 5 and 3 as well as a few others. We had quite the little crew on the way to school.

I was to be Tara Nepal again as she was still absent and my first class was class 8. I had made up a crossword puzzle that included ‘environmental’ terms like pollution, nature, green, reduce, reuse, recycle and earth that was along the same theme as what we discussed yesterday so I wrote it on the board with the clues and had them copy and complete it in their notebooks. No one tells me what to do with the classes, sometimes Kumar will say “English” or “Math” so usually I just talk about Canada and Nepal and the environment. It’s worked out fine so far and as long as they are listening and interacting a bit in English for an hour, I’d say that’s good enough. If I can make a point about environmental awareness, then it’s even better.

Some of course are more receptive than others. I don’t know if it’s because they are in the front or if they are in the front because, but there are a few in each class whose English is quite good, they pay close attention and are eager to answer all of my questions. While it’s nice, it is easy to end up in a secluded conversation with just those students. I try to involve the back, but usually they are busy using the time to shut me out and do work for other classes in their own language. It reminds me a bit of the classes in China. I don’t get too worked up over it, but did call a boy out who seemed to make a big, obvious production of looking really interested in what was on the board whenever I walked by and would pretend to drag his pencil across the paper to copy it down, even though the information had been on the board for about half an hour and his page was either full of Nepalese characters or completely blank.

“You should be in the movies!” I exclaimed to him.

“You are a very good actor!” Even the ones who didn't understand very much English seemed to get the gist of the joke and erupted in laughter.

I was informed by an unapologetic Mr Narayan that I was not expected at his house this evening. Despite the fact that he had told me no less than 8 times to ask Ranjan’s permission to stay with his family the day before. I had brought a change of clothes and my toothbrush in my backpack for the occasion, but he said, “No, not tonight, tomorrow. Cannot tonight.” As if I was the one demanding to go to his home and they just weren’t feeling it today. He then proceeded to comfort me about the situation as if I’d just been told I only have two weeks to live.

“Are you ok? It will be tomorrow. I have no bike today.” I

I’m not sure if he walked the 20km to school, or how he arrived, but I wasn’t overly cut up about it. To be honest, he is a bit irritating. Very demanding with his tone and he interrupts and speaks over people to get your attention. He looks just like one of the Seinfeld characters, I can’t think of whom, and a little like Danny Devito with that same, short-necked stance and energetic speech.

I realize that all of the teachers are very interested in me, and want to know as much as they can. I can sense that they are just dying to ask me 100 questions when we’re in the staff room, and some don’t hold back. Those that do, only do so because of the language barrier, because if there’s someone who can ask the questions, they are quick to demand the translated version from that person. It gets a bit annoying to be sitting in a room full of people who are clearly talking about you and saying things you can’t understand. Shooting glances at you every so often, sometimes breaking out in laughter, and sometimes no one is translating for you so you have no idea what they’re saying. I assume I am the brunt of most jokes, but I guess you just have to smile and laugh along like a good, stupid foreigner.

I was placed back with class 7 a little apprehensively, but decided to woo them with photos. I whipped out the pictures of Santa & Mrs Claus (Grader and Sammy when they visited China for Christmas 4 years ago) from my bag as we discussed the Canadian and Nepalese flags. Mr ?handsome newlywed teacher? who supervised and accompanied me to a couple classes yesterday, also stayed for this class and helped to translate a few words. We got into the discussion about their holiday, Deepali (Diwali) and ours, Christmas. Apparently, they too celebrate Christmas, though not to the extent we do in the west. But then, that doesn't surprise me because there seems to be an excuse for a holiday/celebration every week. They were thrilled, if a bit confused by the photo of Mom and Dad dressed as Mrs and Mr Claus, especially when I told them they were my parents.

“No, my father isn’t Santa Claus. He just likes to dress up like him sometimes.” If they only knew…

Kumar tells me my schedule on a need-to-know basis. I have to walk up the stairs to the teacher’s lounge after every class to find out where to go next. Sometimes there’s already a teacher on their way to that class and sometimes I just get jostled along with another to sit in on their class with them, which is what happened during Period 3 when I was really keen for a “leisure” period but I was told I’d be teaching Class 5 Math. As I made my way down, Mr Narayan intercepted and said “Someone will teach that class, you come with me!”

“Uhhh…where are we going?”

“We will go teach Grade 4 about Area, do you know Area?”

“Yes, I know Area.”

“Good, you come with me, we teach.”

This should have been my leisure period, but as it turned out, Mr Narayan would give a quick lesson on how to calculate the area of a rectangle or square, the kids would complete a sample question and “Sophia will check!” He handed over a red pen that was my cue to circulate throughout the class as eager little hands jabbed their notebooks under my nose to inspect their work, anticipating a big, red check mark. After making small, discreet circles in places where students had left out the ^2 or the units (cm/m/km), Mr Naryan produced himself at my side, swiped the pen and made an ‘x’ that took up half the page of some crushed little boy’s notebook,

“Wrong, like this!”

“Oooohkay.” I continued to make small circles.

As I would walk around, checking books and trying to explain mistakes, he would yell over everyone, and me, “Sophia! Sophia! Look! You make the next question!” When it was clear that over half the class didn’t have the first one finished and the rest were fixing the small mistakes that I’d asked them to.

“Ok, just a minute.” and then I continued to check and help the students. Perhaps I was being a bit defiant, but he was just getting under my skin. And if I was going to be using my leisure class to help him, I was going to do it my way.

Another reason why I didn’t want to rush to a new question was that there were so many sweet kids in that group, a few really handsome boys who would watch intensely and with such hope in their faces as I would check their work and then the pride that would spread across their face in a big grin was just heartwarming. I felt like I was watching my own children win a Nobel Prize. They were so sweet. Maybe I could get used to this Math thing!

Next, Kumar informed me that I would be with Class 3 again, much to my chagrin.

“How were they? Do you like to be with Class 3?”

“Well, to be honest, no. They don't understand a word I say and they were out of control the other day.”

“Yes I heard that, I punished them. They will not do that again. Do you want to teach them?”

“Well, to be honest I’m hoping I’ll have a break soon, it’s been a really busy day so far and I’m quite tired.” I couldn’t imagine saying this in real life, but where I’m volunteering and I would say being taken advantage of somewhat, and also aware that TaraNepal has two leisure periods on Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays. Also, I would just prefer to know the days’ schedule in advance as opposed to just being told right before that I have to teach a class.

“You don’t want to teach now?”

“Well, it’s not that, I’d just like to know when I’ll have a break.”

“During the break period, it is next.”

“You mean lunch time? When everyone has lunch?” Sigh.

I decided to distract Grade 3 from their madness with electronics and after discussing holidays again (sticking with the Christmas theme) I showed them part of the movie, Elf. They were captivated, if not a bit confused. I had them gather on the floor and put the computer up on a desk. They practically sat on the keyboard. the movie played for about 20 minutes and their grubby little faces continuously turned and looked back at mine for? Guidance? Do we laugh now? Are we still supposed to be watching this? Is the baby elf her? After showing them the mother-father Santa photo, I’m pretty sure they think the movie Elf is the story of my life. Ah well, close enough. By the time the class ended all their sweaty bodies together in such a tight space made the room smell like a barn. I don't know if it’s the secretion of animal waste into the water, the type of soap they use to wash the clothes which must be made from some animal product, the close proximity of cows, goats and chickens to everyone’s home or just the air, but there is a definite ‘barn/farm-animal smell’ to everyone and everything. I am even smelling it on myself. My sweat smells faintly of cows milk and my clothes, well, like a barn. Not necessarily in a stinky, bad way, but when you’ve got 35-45 kids crammed into a small classroom at the peak of the hottest part of the day with no breeze and no electricity to move the fans and at least disperse the barn-smell molecules, it does not smell good.

I had to teach Class 8 again before lunch, this time it was Science. They were supposed to be learning about Heat which was fortunately a topic I had just taught to the 7/8 Class in Boracay last year. I improvised a lesson on What Heat is, where it comes from, how we measure it and remembering my Winter in Canada photos on my computer, I plugged my laptop in to charge next door as I had them make a list of ways people and animals keep warm in cold climates.

“This’ll get ‘em.” I thought as I prepared to show them the photos of the house under 20 feet of snow. They were stunned to say the least. Boys in the back who I was actually considering checking the pulse of, we jumping on top of each other to see the pictures of my sliding down the roof of the house with Maggie and Abbey. With the time remaining, I decided to give ‘ol Bill Nye a go, as it just so happened I had the episode on “Heat.” I put the computer on a little chair at the front of the room and the kids crowded around to watch and strain to hear the video. Bill’s comedic mannerisms and interesting videos succeed in delighting audiences around the world; it’s official. I had to shut things down and tell them to go get lunch a few minutes after the bell when they were still engrossed in the video. “If I am back tomorrow, we can watch!” I assured them.

On the way back to the staff room, I was surrounded by a gang of about 20 kids from all grade levels. They were testing the waters and asking random questions when it was the boys from Class 7 who had the cajones to inquire, “Ms, are you married?” I stopped walking, turned to face them and with the most serious face I could manage responded, “Yes. I have 10 husbands.” They were floored. It is certainly not custom here in Nepal, for a woman to have boyfriend, let alone 10 husbands. I left them with that little treat as I retreated upstairs.

I’d brought a couple small bananas and an apple for my lunch and honestly wasn’t even really hungry after only recently not feeling like I was going to explode from breakfast. The staff orders lunch from the small restaurant, which is one of the 5 shops at the crossroads outside the school. They offered me a small plate of noodles with vegetables, which I didn’t really want, but accepted for solidarity reasons. It was 20 Rs (.20$) for the lunch and I offered it to the gentleman who served up my plate.

Welcome to the future!

It’s Tuesday, September 17, 2013. Or so I thought. When I went to write the date on the board in the first class of the day, the children reacted as though I had told them that they were going to be writing a surprise exam;

“Noooooo!!!!”

Apparently, it’s June 1, 2070.

I still haven’t figured out this crazy calendar system they’ve got going here. After accusing some poor child of being an alien from the future after she wrote her birth year as 2063, no one has been able to explain why they are in such a rush to get through the 21st century.

Today was better in some ways. I taught for Tara Nepal ALL day and realized she was getting a pretty sweet deal out of it when she effed off with her purse over her shoulder, out the front gates as soon as the first class started and I was informed that I would be taking her classes for the day. She was apparently going to some protest or assembly thing for supporting teachers, so I guess as long as she’s stickin’ it to the man, it’s all good.

My first class was Class 7 who started out alright, (I’d been in with them yesterday for one class that I observed) but when I returned after the first class to teach them period 2, the boys side moaned with displeasure and some even yelled, “NO!” as I re-entered the room. I’m pretty sure the howls of disapproval came from the boy whom I’d forced to get up twice to place items in the garbage bin after I’d finished my little makeshift mini-lesson on Environmental Awareness and caught him throwing things across the room, onto the floor and then outside on the ground…just to spite me and my happy earth drawing.

Class 8 was an absolute joy and they ate up my “we all call Earth home, so treat it like your own house” bit and were enthusiastically showing me their “Happy Earth” drawings by the end of the class, waving and screaming “THANK YOUUUUUU” as the class ended. Win some, ya loose some.

I taught Grade 3 twice; the first was with Mr Handsome helping to translate as I made creative little explanation of our Canadian flag incorporating the maple leaf, maple tree and maple syrup connection as well as our seasons, animals and sports. I asked them to explain their flag to me (sun and star = always in sky = Nepal always a country) as it has never been occupied by another country before. They were asking him to tell me to come back as I left, despite the language barrier and just my luck, I was back with them after lunch. Luck must have been in short supply, because they appeared to have eaten whatever evil infused treat was fed to the gremlins in Grade 1 the day before because they turned into a bunch of monsters about half way through. They were running all over the place, yelling, starting some mutually decided mass classroom cleanup and would not listen to a single word I said – whispered, grunted, shouted or screamed. I had just picked up my bag to walk out of the room when the bell rang. I’m sure I broke some customary departure rules involving a bow and a Namaste, but I was just too worked up, I had to get out.

Finally, I was with the lovely Grade 5s to finish the day and we played a few rounds of hangman, a couple more with student volunteers and then we quickly reviewed their homework on “wants” from the night before. This was the crew who was forced to do pushups yesterday and as luck would have it, barely a one of them completed theirs. As I made the rounds to check, eager eyes glanced up at my disappointed face and asked “pushups??” “No. No pushups. Do your homework!” Oops. Near the end of the class, one boy stood up and went over to Mr Handsome who had come into the room to sit in the back and help out with translating as he did some work. The boy had with his hand over his mouth and I suspected he had lost a tooth or coughed up something unsightly. Fortunately, it was no more than a bloody incisor and he went out to the bathroom. I seized the opportunity to explain the tooth fairy which seems way stupider than you’d think trying to tell a bunch of kids that we Canadians believe that some little person with wings flies into your room at night and steals your teeth like some grave robber and leaves you a few coins if you’re lucky. Unfortunately, I’ve again probably encouraged some bizarre behavior which may result in these 38 kids rushing home tonight, yanking out their teeth and sticking them under their pillow in hopes that they’ll make up a few rupees richer.

Their tradition made a bit more sense, but seemed a bit more organic; they stick the tooth into a handful of cow shit and toss it over the roof of their house while making a wish that they will be healthy and grow new teeth. I’m not sure if it’s the same custom held for the elderly, but if it is I’m assuming they aren't as lucky with the outcome or they’re not throwing as far.

I was thankfully given my first break of the day during the last period and chatted to three of the teachers as well as two other men played a fun game of 21 questions with me. That would be 21 questions each, which eventually turned into commands:

“How much money do you make as a teacher in Canada?” “How much do you make as a teacher every day?” “How much do you make as a teacher every week?” How much do you make as a teacher every month?” How much do you make as a teacher every year?” “How long have you been a teacher?” “Do the children work in groups?” “How do you teach them?” “Do you work for the government?” “How much does it cost to go to university there?” “What are your qualifications?” “How long did you go to university?” “What did you study in university?” “What does your father do?” “What does your mother do?” “How many sisters and brothers do you have?” “What do they do?” “Are you married?” “Do you have a boyfriend?” “Why not?” “Have you been to Bharatbud?” “Would you like to come to Bharatbud?” “Tell Ranjan that you are coming to Bharatbud with me tomorrow.”

And it seems as thought most conversations I have had/will have in Nepal have traveled along this same line of questioning. By then end, I had a date set to stay with one of the male teachers and his family in a town 20km away tomorrow night. He even drove me home half way to make sure he could SEE me tell Ranjan that I would be staying with him the following night, but Ranjan and Swapna weren’t home.

“Ok, I see you tomorrow, don’t forget.”

He said as he drove off on his motorbike. I was walked to and from school with some of the children today. This morning I heard, “Sophia, the children are waiting for you!” as I was preparing my bag in my room. To my shock and delight, two of the girls who are often hanging around the house here, were all dressed up in their school clothes and waiting outside my door to walk me to school. Neither really speak English very well, but we had a nice walk regardless and fell into step with a few more along the way.

I hadn’t really had much for water all day and was absolutely parched, so I grabbed some rupees and walked back toward the school, about 10 minutes, to one of the little corner shops that sells water. Surprisingly, of the four shops that make up the town “Square” you would be lucky to find more than one that sells water at a time. I feel guilty buying plastic water bottles everyday; everyone in the community drinks well water, but I am a bit apprehensive. I would be ok if it could be boiled, but that’s a bit of a pain in the ass for them to do that for me, and without a cooling system, not an ideal way to be refreshed.

I wasn’t home 5 minutes when Ranjan and Swapna pulled up on the bike and Ranjan suggested within the next two that we go see a soccer game; I was keen to watch some footy, so I jumped on the bike and off we went down the bumpy dirt path about 15 minutes away where there were at least 200 people gathered to watch one of the first games of a large tournament that is being held amongst 31 teams in the Chitwan district. Ranjan’s friends and nephew played on the team we were cheering for (and they won!) and we stood along the side lines to watch the first half after I was fed crispy long fried ring snacks, vegetable pakora and some aloo (potato) thing. And an ice cream. Better step up the yoga.

We walked around to the other side of the field to watch the second half and sat along the banks of the river where oxen grazed and young boys swam and the big full sun set behind the trees to the left. To the right the Himalayas peeked above the clouds in the distance. It was such a nice evening. On the way home, we came across a figure curled on the rickety bamboo bridge we had to cross. Ranjan told me to get off the bike, drove it to the other side of the bridge and walked back to lift the figure up and help him to his feet. The figure was a disheveled man, around 60 with torn, dirty clothes and the stench of one who had been dabbling in the nectar of the gods for quite some time.

“You couldn’t have picked a worse place to sleep, buddy.” I said as Ranjan hoisted him to his feet. “I’m sorry,” he slurred as he brought his hands together in the prayer position and grinned with his little chicklet teeth.

His sandals were off his feet and I tried to place them in front of him so he could put them on. When it became obvious that that was not going to be possible, I tried to lift his feet to do it for him. He made the gesture to swat my hand away as he and Ranjan both said “no no!”

“It is disrespect to have someone touch your feet in Nepal.” I should have known this as there always seems to be some foot rule in every country in Asia, but I assumed all rules went out the window when it came to dealing with drunkards.

I was worried I’d disrespected this man, but as it turns out, he was worried he was being disrespectful to me. Even piss-drunk, these Nepalis have manners!

On the way home, we discussed marriage; Ranjan informed me that he and Swapna had a ‘love marriage’ and not an arranged one, as many people still do in Nepal. He met her at a family member’s home, proposed to her a week later, she thought about it for one more, agreed and then they fell in love.

“So you got engaged and THEN you fell in love?”

“Yes!”

His eldest sister had a very Romeo & Juliet story; she was supposed to be married to some guy when she was younger, but was in love with her boyfriend at the time. A few days before the marriage was supposed to take place, she ran away from home with her boyfriend and they were married on their own! Apparently her family was a bit sad because everyone was talking about ‘the love’ and she was too afraid to tell them how she really felt. But eventually, everyone got over it and she and her husband had three children, one of whom was meant to be playing soccer this evening. The husband, however, died last year from heart problems so now she is left with three children to continue raising on her own.

They are all a bit older; one daughter Sidu is 20 and studying to become a teacher. She is taking morning classes starting at 6am in town about 40 minutes away by bicycle and then teaching at a small school in the afternoon to help pay the 600Rs/month she has to pay for tuition. The education course takes 5 years to complete and she is now in her second.

Ranjan and Swapna left again after we returned from the game, and I was served a nice dinner of, none other than rice, okra & potato curry, dhal and a small dollop of spicy tomato chutney. Gorima, Ranjan’s niece sat and translated for Ama as she asked many questions about my parents, life in Canada and trying to figure out what the bloody hell this 29 year old childless, unmarried girl is doing paying to come stay in rural Nepal when she hasn’t seen her family for over a year.

“Does she think I’m a bad daughter?” I asked Gorima to ask her.

“Ahh…hahhah” laughter in reply.

“Do you give your parents money?” Ama asked through Gorima.

“Do I give THEM money?! Good God no, I don’t have enough money to give myself!”

“Do your parents give you money?”

“I wish my parents gave me money!”

“Your mommy stays in the home all day? Who cooks, her or you? Sisters married? Jobs? Children?” 21 questions must be a popular game in Nepal.

We somehow got onto the topic of exercise, girls being girls anywhere in the world, Sidu and Gorima were inspecting their overly plump (or by their standards) bellies and I showed them a couple yoga moves. Gorima almost broke her leg trying to recreate the pose on my TTC t-shirt so she decided it was safer in the kitchen where she made us the most delicious sweet tea I’ve ever had with sugar, lemon and something else that made it black.

Another long and tiring day, but I’m looking forward to mixing it up a bit come Saturday and hopefully doing some more ‘environmentally’ themed stuff with Ranjan next week and the elephants, the elephants!!!

“You get out here!” ~ Sunday, September 15, 2013

My eye lids are heavy, but I am so eager to make notes about my first experiences in Nepal and, specifically, here in Gawai, Chitwan where I will spend the next 2 weeks at a volunteer placement. I boarded the ‘local’ bus in Thamel at 12:00 pm this afternoon after several emails from Ranjan wherein I could detect his apprehensiveness about me choosing to take the local bus instead of the tourist bus, which only leaves once per day at 6:30am. After arriving in Kathmandu late in the evening last night and wanting to explore and pick up a few things before my exile to a rural village, I decided I was going to forgo the comforts and inflated price of the tourist bus and have a bit of time in the morning to hopefully acquire a new pair of hiking boots that I could break in a bit before my trek I had planned to do after the placement. I was successful in my search and encountered possibly the best salesman in all of Nepal who somehow managed to talk me into purchasing half of North Fake’s medium quality mass-produced Chinese crap. How did I let this happen? In my defense, nothing I purchased do I feel to be impulse buys or articles that will not be put to use in the future and I tried to limit my selection to versatile items that could be used for outdoor activities/trekking in both Nepal and Canada. For less than $100 CAD, I left Mr Fulrai’s shop, Everest Outdoor Trekking Store with “the perfect things for me” which included; a pair of North Fake hiking boots, two pairs of Cool Max trekking socks, a North Fake long-sleeved moisture-wick top, and a North Fake foldable hat. I was given Mr Fulrai’s guarantee of satisfaction, a handful of cards as I reluctantly handed over my Visa along with the reassurance that I would come back to his shop with my father when I manage to drag him to Nepal to trek with me one day.

I arrived at the chaotic bus station around 11:30 and after being shooed away, pointed toward and dragged from one ticket stand to another, found myself on a hot and extremely cramped local bus bound for Chitwan.

The bus ride was…weird. People got on and off at any and every location possible, poor Monster (my inexplicably large backpack) was strapped to the roof when his place in the aisle became too awkward for passengers to navigate around. Vendors boarded at all the stops selling various snacks such as chunks of coconut, chips, peanuts and entire cucumbers with various sauces to slather onto them. Bottles of water were shoved in my face throughout the 6 hour journey as vendors were so bold as to slide the windows open and beggars to reach through and grab my knee with a hungry, sad, pleading look splayed across their faces.

The views were incredible along the drive as the bus crept around up down and over the mountains and valleys, along rivers and little towns. It was a very pleasant drive when we weren’t stopped with dust suffocating the nostrils, and sweat leaking out of every pore.

The bus lurched to a halt in the middle of busy downtown Chitwan and I suddenly hear yelling and every pair of eyes on the bus turned to look at me. Apparently, this was my stop. Ranjan had told me to stay on the bus until the last stop where he would be waiting for me. I insisted to the little bus manager who was now outside standing beside Monster, who had been ejected from his shackled space on the roof and was now lying in the dust on the side of the road like some dead animal, that “I’m supposed to stay on until the last stop at Sauraha.”

“This is last stop. You take a taxi to Sauraha!”

The gentleman beside me also informed me that “this is last stop, you get off here.”

My confusion came when I realized that no one else was getting off at this apparent ‘final stop.’ Were they all just along for the fun of a 12 hour round-trip jaunt from Kathmandu to Chitwan and back again? No…there must be at least one more stop. But the tribe had spoken and the members of the local bus crew had decided that this particular individual was being voted off the bus. I alighted and continued to discuss the situation with the bus managers when the bus itself started to pull away, leaving me standing amongst the fruit vendors and taxi drivers in a heap of confusion.

I was hoping to see Ranjan come running up to me, but he did not. I collected myself after dragging my awkward luggage that seemed much heavier than it had the day before (damn you, Mr Fulrai) over by a bench when some forlorn gentleman with a picture frame approached. In his most desperate and pathetic voice he pleaded, “Please, mother sick with cancer” whist shoving the framed picture of an elderly woman and two written paragraphs in Nepali in my face.

I was hot, tired, lost and could only think of my Aunts at this moment and could only mutter “EVERYONE has f%#@ing cancer, dude” as I jerked my baggage onto my back and started off to locate a Wi-Fi zone. The first attempt was a guesthouse where the two men behind the counter informed me that neither they nor anyone else in the entire town of Chitwan could provide Wi-Fi. “Seriously? No one? Anywhere?”

“No ma’am, but you would like some room? Some drinks? Some laundry?” Bloody hell, no!

The towering “Top Resto” building looked promising so I made my way up and to my relief discovered that they were Wi-Fi friendly. After making contact with poor Ranjan who was patiently waiting for me in Sauraha about 20km away, the kind, plump server Govinda, helped me downstairs and arranged a fair price with a friendly taxi driver to my destination.

My young driver was full of smiles the entire drive and informed me that the guest in Nepal is considered God.

“How can I be a good guest?” I wanted to know.

“You are already a good guest, the guest is God!”

“But what if I eat all their food or leave my clothes lying around in a big mess, will they still think I am good.” “Yes, no problem!”

As we neared an unavoidable pothole the size of the small car itself, my young driver prepared us with an “uh ohhhhh!” CRASH “Soooorrrryyyyyyy…” Big toothy smile.

As I was asking about his school and what he was studying his phone rang. It was one of his friends who he was eagerly informing that he had a “Canadian friend with him.”

“Do you have Facebook?”

I hesitated.

“Um…well, er, yes.”

“Can I add you as friend?”

“Well, yes. But my friend had a guy add her when we were in India and he ended up liking every single one of her pictures and she had to delete him, so don’t do that, ok?”

“Ok, yes understand. No problem. No liking! I’m so happy now.”

By the time we arrived in Sauraha, poor Ranjan had been waiting for me since 3:30 in the afternoon! I felt terrible, but he was pretty laid back about the fact that he’d sat around for the past 4 1/2 hours. Seated on his motorbike, we awkwardly balanced all of my crap onto our backs and legs and started the slow journey to the rural part of town where Ranjan lives with his wife Swapna (pronounced Shoapna) their four year old daughter Maru (or, my new Bahini – little sister) as well as Ranjan’s mother (Ama- mother) and father (Buwa). There was another older lady who I believe is the father’s sister (Phupu) and a young girl who is Ranjan’s niece Garima all crammed into the modest 3 bedroom hut they call home along a dirt road across from a rice field. As it was dark, it was difficult to make much out along the drive, but we went through many fields of crops, which I was informed, are currently in rice season with another two months to go before harvest, making the land very green and lush (or so I could tell from the drive from Thamel). Ranjan talked animatedly about some of the projects he has going in the community including building wells for families to have better access to water for maintaining their crops in the dry seasons, and developing and protecting the nature tour company he works for. He talked a bit about some of the other volunteers they have had here in the community and was very interested in what I had been and will be doing in terms of my travels before and after Nepal.

When we arrived at his home, Swapna, Maru, Ama & Phupu were waiting on the stoop with a bouquet of tropical pink and purple flowers, and a tray with rice and pink powdery dye which they offered as a blessing as they placed the mark on my forehead. Maru was quite shy and kept her distance as she sized me up, but by the time I’d finished my plate of rice, potato and okra, some thick soupy sauce and spicy chutney, she was coyly doing headstands and short hip thrusting dance moves to show off to the new guest.

The power cut out and we were plunged into darkness as I was chatting to Swapna, Ama and Phupu about where they had grown up and what they do in the village. We lit a candle for the few minutes that we were without power and continued our discussion as Maru interrupted to try to get my attention by saying “Didi! Didi!”

“What is she saying?” I asked Swapna.

“Didi, it means big sister in Nepali. You are her big sister now.”

Ranjan explained that just as with their past volunteers, some of whom have flown him and the family to their own homes in Europe, another is starting an organic coffee business with him, I would be welcomed and treated as a member of the family during my short stay.

We didn't get a chance to discuss logistics or what he’s got planned for me as Ranjan insisted that I go to bed early if I was tired and take my time and just relax and not rush into anything the following day. Although I was keen to find out what this placement would involve, I was grateful for the pardon to bed as I realized the long bus ride had exhausted me.

My room is very pleasant with a double and single bed, large bathroom with modern toilet, sink and shower in the same room. There is a small ground-level balcony outside facing the dirt road and the fields across from it. I was looking forward to awakening to the scenery of Gawai in the morning!