My encounter with Satan

I ran into some local thugs during my walk last night; by thugs I mean I sweet group of boys ranging from Grades 3-5 who were very curious about where I was from and where I was going; as everyone seems to be here in Nepal. They directed me to the river and said goodbye, then followed me there on their bike and proceeded to show off by jumping off the river’s edge and into the water and sand below. When I went to say goodbye, they followed me again down the road and wanted to know where I was staying and asked if they could come swimming in the swimming pool. I offered my toilet as the closest thing to a swimming pool where I was staying; they declined and stopped harassing me after that but were still very concerned as to whether or not I would be back for a walk the following day at the same time ☺

This morning I woke early and helped Ama prepare breakfast by smashing some seeds to be used for the chutney and also peeling some vegetables for the curry.

I was invited to stay with Tara Nepal for the night and got to experience yet another interesting family dynamic.

We arrived at Tara’s home, which was a small, two-room apartment that she shares with her husband and 3 year old son in the town of Pasaro. We were making introductions when her initially cute and playful son started to turn on me. The first ‘love tap’ I received was a full-armed smack across my ass. As the evening progressed, I was beaten in the back, the legs, the arms and even had my right breast grabbed; not the kind of action I was hoping for. It was clear that this behavior was going to continue as both son and father laughed with glee after each attack. Tara was only slightly firmer but still with an affectionate smile on her face as she would grab him to pull the clawing demon out of reach of its victim. A number of times she said, “He is a very naughty boy.” It was difficult to argue with this assertion.

This child was a menace, and not just with me. Thankfully, we didn’t stay long enough to see what other kind of torture he had in store as we drove close to where Sita’s family lives to visit Tara’s mother and father and the entire extended family plus half the people who live on the street that surrounded the front porch to catch a glimpse of the foreign visitor. There were at least eight children, each of whom either willingly or through force from an elder grandparent, introduced themselves to me as “Something Nepal, Amir Nepal, Christina Nepal, Nepal, Nepal, Nepal.” Clearly, they were very proud of their last name. I’ve begun to realize that people ALWAYS introduce themselves by their first and last names, which is why I am having such difficulty remembering them. Plus, they say their names so quickly that it is impossible to discern where the first name ends and the last name begins. I really enjoyed my visit with Tara’s family and after I finished some nice black tea, we returned to the torture chamber.

Tara and her husband prepared a huge feast for dinner. I was ravenous as it was almost 9pm before we sat down on the floor of their bedroom/living room with the previous days’ newspapers as our table to enjoy about 10 different dishes. My servings were larger and included more various foods than theirs, either in an effort to provide variety and assurance that I would have at least a few things to eat that I liked, or to fatten me up so that the beatings inflicted by their devil child wouldn’t be as visible.

Regardless, I was blown away by the spread; curried aloo, cut and tasting similar to, but much better than, curry fries, a big bowl of dhal, sliced cucumber, roti, chopped cabbage and onion salad, an omlette, a curried bean and potato dish, tomato chutney and at least half a kilo of rice served with curd for dessert. I thought I was going to bust. As we ate dinner in silence, Tara kept eying my plate. Unsure as to whether or not she was resentful of my extra portions or just interested in how I eat, I stared back at hers.

Finally, with a distressed look on her face, she said “You do not like the food?” I honestly cannot think of what would have caused this conclusion as I tried to match their pace and eagerness in eating and had devoured practically everything that had been put before me. Becoming defensive and a bit exasperated at her paranoia and accusation, I said “I don’t know why you would think that. I am eating everything. It is all very delicious, thank you.”

She continued to eye my plate, but a little less obviously until we finished and I had eaten almost everything and thanked them profusely for the amazing meal and offered to help with the cleanup.

When it was time for bed about an hour later, Tara’s husband had disappeared and she directed me to turn off the light when I was finished with the computer. “Where is your husband?” She motioned to the kitchen where there was a small couch. “Tara, he doesn’t have to sleep in there, I can go sleep there.”

But she was insistent, so I rested my head down on the firm mattress of the single bed beside the large double bed she was sharing with the baby.

I awoke around 2am, my mind ablaze with thoughts and weird meaningless concerns. “I wonder what facilities are available in the Istanbul airport?” I wondered to myself after realizing I would have 4-5 hours to kill there before my flight to Italy. Was it really necessary to know whether or not I would be able to get a hair appointment in three weeks at the Istanbul airport while lying awake at 2 in the morning? Probably not, but to ease my jumpy mind, I decided to take a look. Tara woke up and said “Sophia? Are you not sleeping? What are you looking at?”

“Just can’t sleep Tara, sorry, I’m just reading something.”

Fearing the brightness from my laptop had awoken her, I closed it and tried to get back to sleep. Between the insufferable heat, the puddles of sweat rolling down every crevice of my skin, the 250 tiny, itchy little bites all over my arms and legs and the odd cry and wail from the demon who was sleeping next to Tara which caused me to fear that he would wake up and come slap me across the face if I closed my eyes, I could NOT get to sleep for another hour.

I woke up numerous times, either from suffocation, itchiness or fear for my life and finally to Tara choosing the noisiest cleaning activity possible, sweeping the carpet with a stiff, straw broom, around 6am.

Please God, don’t let it wake up.

She had assured me that usually it goes to sleep around 8:30 or 9 pm and stays that way until 730 or 8am which was a fact I took great comfort in knowing, but you can never be sure. They can smell fresh meat. After what little sleep I’d had, I knew I wasn’t going to be in a mood to tolerate this child’s abuse all morning.

The icing on the cake was when Tara’s brother arrived the next morning for a visit before he too headed off to school. As he sat down on the bed beside Tara, I looked up from my book to see the little hellion wander into the room with his empty plastic lunch box. He had removed the lid and wound up and threw it at poor uncle teacher, landing in his lap not far from his privates. “Baaaabbuuuuuu” he chuckled good naturedly.

Why do these people keep laughing at this little hellion whenever he tries to hurt them?

They continued speaking closely which was not the reaction the demon was hoping for, before it could be stopped, it brought it’s arm back around behind it’s head like a major league pitcher and biffed the thicker bottom part of his lunch container at poor uncle teacher, catching him square in the temple. “Ohhhhhh Baaaabbuuuuu!!!” He exclaimed, grabbing his surely throbbing forehead. When he went to pick him up to control him, the thing tried to bite his arms and then actually SPIT in his face when he became frustrated and realized they weren’t playing around. I was speechless.

“What do you call kids who are like this in Canada?” Tara had asked me the night before.

Hmmm…sociopaths? fit-to-be-tied? offspring of satan?

My diplomatic side said “Rambunctious”

“Ramboo-nox-ee-ous…what does that mean?”

“Uhhhmmm…like energetic and active. Really, really active.”

I had asked Tara about going to the supermarket store just a few doors down which she took as her cue to come as a guide, really I just wanted to grab a snack for lunch and a new toothbrush and just get out for a quick walk. She appeared while I was out on the balcony chatting to Dad before he went to bed. As it was almost midnight in Canada, he was giving me a brief recap of Aunt Bunny’s funeral and burial that had been just a few hours before.

“Sophia, let’s go to the supermarket now.”

“Ok, just a minute Tara, I’m just talking to my Dad right now.”

She came back again, more insistent, saying “We go to the Supermarket, and then you can talk.” 3 hours of sleep had left me with little patience,

“Tara, it is very late in Canada, and my father is going to bed soon, I am going to talk to him right now for a few minutes and then I will go to the store myself. You can go ahead if you would like.”

Breakfast (after an early morning sweet black tea, biscuit and banana snack) was as hearty as dinner had been. No wonder these people never eat during the day when morning and night is an all you can eat buffet! Again, Tara eyed my plate(s) and said “You don’t like omlette?” When I’d only managed to get through the first half when we had only started eating 2 minutes prior.

“Tara, the omlette is fine, everything is great, why do you think I do not like the food?”

She was very concerned on the drive to school about my time at her house.

“Sophia, you sleep ok?”

“Well, not really, but I just had a lot on my mind and maybe I just wasn’t in the mood to sleep.”

“I wake up at midnight and you are on computer.”

“Well, I was hoping to get an email from my father to hear how things were going at home so I wanted to check, I hope I didn’t disturb you.”

“The bed was ok for sleeping?”

“Everything at my house was ok? Was there any problem at my house?”

“You will come back again? If you need to do more work or use the internet, you can come to my house tonight.”

“When you come back to Nepal, please don’t forget us.”