Heading in...

.....to a 2 day workshop that I've been looking forward to for months.

9 creative facilitators. 27 young women (17-24) who come from marginalized communities. 3 nights and 2 days of art, empowerment and social justice. Of discussion and talking about the things that most matter to us, of exploration of voice, and information sharing about woman's and human rights. Plus, a lot of fun guaranteed along the way.

Stay tuned for pictures and stories, a window into what these women have to say to the world.

For Elijah...

Life is way better when enjoyed with good friends around...just sayin'.

One of the coolest parts of being a VSO volunteer? Meeting amazing people from all around the world that I otherwise would have never had the opportunity to meet. I mean truly fabulous people.

Hey, Elijah...don't forget us all in Nepal. Or your good hair stories.

Miss you. :-)

Luck and Timing

We had our annual volunteer conference a bit over a week ago. 45 volunteers in Nepal and the VSO office staff all congregated in Nagarkot to update ourselves about development in Nepal, share experiences and learning, and to have some fun.

I was one on a team helping to organize and facilitate at the conference - at ton of fun. As I was helping with the opening session, I wanted to start off the 4 days together with a poem, but hadn't had any time to look for anything.

30 minutes before we started I did a hectic google search. What kind of poem might be fitting? And came across the poem below. It is perfect, I love it. A poem written by a Newari writer that uses nature imagery to talk about human nature. Newars are one of the indigenous groups of Nepal....they have been living on this land for a long, long time.

The photos above are from a trip to Bhaktapur, a Newari city that uses tourist fees to protect the cultural heritage and traditions and to keep up the city. When you visit Bhaktapur, it feels like you have a window into how people have been living consistently for 500 years or more. Save for little clues every once in awhile (like an advertisement above a shop) that reminds you of this other world we are more familiar with.

Elijah and I visited Bhakapur as our last day together before he left to go back home to Uganda. As we sat in a cafe drinking hot chocolate, ducking from the torrential rain that means the monsoon is on its way, we watched women walk across the main square gathering water from the well. Bucket by bucket. Catching up on the latest gossip. Others rested at their local shop under the eaves, patiently watching the rain and waiting.

We also happened to come on a day when they celebrate one of two main annual festivals. The whole city was alive and vibrant as men and boys pulled chariots through the city and everyone came to observe. It felt like such an honor to witness this ceremony and practice of bringing people together, calling in the rain, celebrating the new year. What lucky timing...

The Restless Urge For Equality

by Purna Bahadur Vaidya

Before moving water rounds itself
and rises ever so slightly
with an eye to sorting out where the land slopes
where depth lies

Encountered, the world gives it flow, direction, speed
As always water's intention is to fill and raise
Where boundaries create you & me
where between yours & mine walls rise --it revolts

Gathering strength it flows,
and wherever it flows
as day follows day walls collapse,
boundaries are dismissed

In the absence of boundaries and walls
we see wider land --where water calmly, naturally, moves on

This struggle tells me
that the character of the land is uneven

Tempered by the speed of the flow
my own innate desire
is the equality I seek

Naya bharsa ko laagi 2068, shuba kamana!

Which translates to: Happy New Year, 2068.

Love, all of us in COSAN, at Daman View Tower, Makwanpur, Nepal.

excuse me, there is a chicken in my hotel room

this is an interlude....as i am in between. in many ways.

(happily) exhausted. i just arrived home a few hours ago. off again parsi to palung.

parsi is nepali for the day after tomorrow. i like that there is just one word for this day.

i notice. these days, memories seem to inhabit my body. moving around. coming and going.

i fear losing them. i keep thinking to myself - i need to write all of this down. i can't forget that the other day, when i was in rautahat, i went to the office and someone told me that two bombs had gone off that morning.

one at the women's development office. another in a bus. two different underground groups took responsibility for them. one was called the terai cobras. this is why the buses are on strike and only the man who has come in a cart was able to make it to our office.

when did this become part of my normal everyday?

now there is a local political leader who controls three of our 19 working areas who has decided he doesn't want any ngo presence in the area. at least unless he can control of our budget and all of the decisions that are made. luckily, he allows our staff to continue - for now - to help find children who need to go to school and to work with our women's community action groups. who knows what will happen next.

tomorrow there is supposed to be a strike again. maybe. no one is sure. it's hard to know if it's just a rumor.

in between...i find ways to double up laughing with other volunteers as i watch my friend, george, gallivant around in a costume made of newspapers at our volunteer conference. i say goodbye to my friend who has perhaps most helped me survive here until now: elijah. i stumble across and get pulled into an ancient festival, a tug-of-war between men.

they are pulling a chariot. elders sit on top. candles, incense, ceremony witnessed by thousands. boys get pulled up top by shirt top. it is maybe to help call in the rain. maybe the first day of a four day festival to bring in the new year. it's hard to know, really. maybe both.

anyways, back to rautahat. which was only weeks ago. but feels like ages ago.

i am sharing a hotel room with a woman who works in our central office. i don't expect to see her here. but her father has died, she is telling me. she has spent 16 days grieving with her family and is now traveling back home to kathmandu and is joining the office vehicle as it returns back. we happen to be close to her family's home.

we talk for a long time, she seated on her bed. me on mine.

and then she looks at something behind me. i turn around to see what it might be, and notice a chicken in our hotel room. this hotel room that is - in contrast to its surroundings - amazingly light and bright and clean and comfortable.

yes, a chicken.

what?

apparently it was a gift from her brother. she had already brought it on the bus with her this far. it will be saved for a special meal. after the fasting she will do as part of the grieving.

the chicken was totally quiet at night, despite my fears that it would be running around the room keeping me awake. maybe even jumping onto my bed.

when darkness falls, however, it also fall silent. i sleep incredibly well.

until 4:45 AM. at which time the chicken (now i know it's a rooster) decides that it is time for everyone to wake up.

it calls in the morning - even before the sun has begun to rise. loudly. soooooo frickin' loudly. amazingly loudly. just inches from my head. i am utterly confident that everyone within a mile radius is also now awake.

yes, i say internally. in my head. this is my life now. personal rooster alarm clocks, bombs on buses and in offices, geckos running across my floors, laughing until i cry at my friends' antics, calling in the rain (or new year) in ancient tradition, severed goats heads being loaded in the back of a truck, a parting gift of chocolate from elijah. and finally, home.

how happy good chocolate makes me. but not to detract or distract...

these memories. i should write them down. keep them as mine.

they are sacred, they make me, my story. what am i outside of my story?

i should write them down. vignettes that find themselves now a part of me, moving within me. vivid and vibrant. vying for my attention.

really, i must craft.