Texture

Life starts to have a texture after some time in a new place.

The rhythms of morning sounds,
walking to work,
looking forward to buying fruit from the same man,
knowing where to get your hair cut,
a good espresso,
your friends' hangouts,
where to hear live music,
the places people gather,
the most peaceful places for when you need to reflect.

Slowly, slowly....bistarri, bistarri. It all comes together.

Development (Yes? Development?)

Development: the process of developing or being developed (dictionary.com). Got it???

I think about development every day. It's the work I have landed in. But it's been especially on my mind these days at VSO Nepal's 5 year development strategy is coming to finalization. And as I watch the organizations that I work with really struggle with gaps (of some many kinds) between them and the donors who fund their project.

There aren't any simple solutions...just perhaps less positive and more positive ways of approaching the (huge) challenges involved in the ground realities of "development". Which has something to do with money, power, voice, and (a huge variety) of personal images of what is desirable and "advanced".

In Nepal, in reality, the opportunities for gaps and losses between a) someone who has a vision for what they'd like to see (and money) in the UK (let's say for sake of example), b) the head of a Nepali organization based in Kathmandu, c) a district representative working to implement these two visions (but who is supposed to be empowered and make their own decisions because development these days is people centered) down to the d) field staff who live and see the reality of people's lives in villages in Nepal are, well, many.

In my very limited experience here in Nepal with development, I would say that the misses (and sometimes detrimental effects) within development are just about as many as the positive outcomes.

But I guess that change isn't always a graceful process...anywhere.

Above is a picture narrative of a recent trip to our field area. Which could, perhaps, in some ways serve as a metaphor for my personal experience of current development in Nepal.

(1) There's been monsoon rain, and there are landslides along the road from Kathmandu to Hetauda. This is a particularly large landslide that our jeep tentatively traverses. The roads were totally closed yesterday, and we find out later that after our travel, they are closed again for at least a week due to dangerous conditions. That means no travel between Hetauda and Kathmandu at all, unless you walk or take a plane.

(2) Public transportation. Every once in a while you have to get out of the car (or jeep, or bus) and walk. Until the bus is fixed, or - in this case - the jeep makes it successfully over the landslide.

(3) I'm not sure if the magnitude of the drop comes across in this picture, but this is the ravine that the jeep would slide into had it not made it over the landslide safely. We all clap in excitement when it makes it to the other side.

(4) Our first stop is to a teacher's training program(the program manager and myself). In a situation like this, I've found the best thing I can do is show up, and do absolutely nothing (except be supportive and participate). Nepalis are more capable than leading this training than I am, as they know the language and local context. Having a white face around, I have learned, however, gives an amount of legitimacy to what they are doing and somehow they are taken more seriously. My colleagues are smart people, know this, and invite me to show up at trainings and events and other things whenever they can.

The teachers in the training had a great time learning child-friendly teaching methods. One teacher was so happy at the end of the training that he talked for a good 15 minutes passionately about how these 2 days were more valuable to him than the 7 day training that was provided to him by the government to prepare him for teaching.

As good as the training was (and it really was), it is unlikely that anyone will be able to do any follow up or ongoing learning/support with these teachers. And as 60% are only temporary teachers, it's hard to know where they'll be 6 months from now or what they might - in reality -be able to implement.

Step by step, though...this is a good start, for sure. The 15 minute speech convinces me of that.

(5) Raju and I go to to visit one of our SEC (Supplementary Education Centers) in our project area. They are in remote regions, which is good, because we are wanting to serve children in the truly remote/excluded areas of Nepal. The challenge? Supervision, training, and field visits. Extremely difficult in really remote areas. How do you train and support staff when you can only visit them once every few months and they often can't be reached on mobile phones?

Here's Raju on a bridge as we cross. Apparently he gets mobile phone service here, though.....

(6) A water buffalo is taking refuge in the water. It's a hot day. We see women doing laundry in the 5 streams and rivers that we cross, hand crafted nets to catch fish, and tons of children playing in the water. They are definitely not in school. It's too hot, and there is too much work to be done in the fields at this time of year.

(7) Here's the inside of one of our SEC centers. Notice the women and others from the village at the window who are watching our whole visit. This is the norm. I am so good at not being worried about intense staring any more. The children in our class are either at risk of dropping out of school, or are non-school going children. This means that they are busy working in the fields during the day and can't make it to school (but have committed to coming to our 2 hour-a-day classes.

(8) We decide to get the kids out of the classroom and play some learning games outside. Circles and games and singing and dancing- yep - this is fun. Even though the kids will go right back to chairs and rows and recitation as soon as we leave. Which is okay - because consistency is rewarded in Nepal. And these children need to be successful ultimately within the system of which they are a part.

(9) We take a last photo as we leave - the kids holding up their notebooks. This is for the funder. My Nepali colleagues are ALWAYS taking pictures for the funders. They have been well trained. This is so that the funders can see where their money has gone.

Broadcast

Life has a sense of humor sometimes. Like now, as I start to realize that my time and work in Nepal is limited, and begin to panic that I don’t have a specific plan yet for what comes next. ( I don’t know that I would normally panic, except that people keep asking me over and over again – what will you do when your placement is over? And I don’t know yet, I really don’t).

In the midst of this, I get an invitation to talk on a live radio program with my friend, Rajesh, about career planning for jobs in NGO and INGOs. As an “expert”.

Ha! Career planning? Well, okay, I do know some things about finding and applying for jobs. And I know Rajesh really wants me to do this. He’s taken me to his village home for the most important festival of the year and I feel part of his family. How can I say no?

So there I am this morning, waiting on the corner for Rajesh to come by and pick me up on his motorbike. Times like this, I find myself thinking: wow. This is it. This is Nepal. Here I am. Just watching everything happen around me. I could have never imagined this 2 years ago. Ever.

Rajesh came later than I was hoping (but not expecting) and whisked me off to the Capitol FM radio station, a tall building on the far side of town near where the riots and tire burnings happen when that sort of thing is going on. It looks so peaceful and normal today...

I am happy that VSO has a rule about wearing a helmet on motorcycles today as I sit behind Rajesh and he weaves quickly and sporadically in between cars. I’m grateful for his speed, though, as – frankly – I am nervous as hell about being on the radio live and would really like to arrive at least 15 minutes before we are live on the air.

Inside, the building is narrow and tall. Bright blue, green, and pink walls. Recently painted. A guard lets us in once he confirms we’re welcome, and we step into a fancy office with windows that oversee what really must one of the best views of the Kathmandu valley I’ve seen from the city. I can see all of it from here.

The radio staff are walking about in nice suits, barefoot. It is Nepal, after all, and even though the building is modern, people wouldn’t be comfortable if they didn’t leave their shoes at the door, or the markings from the last puja weren’t visible at the top of their doorway. This makes me feel happy.

I wonder about whether I’ll ever get to run an office at home in the US and make taking off our shoes mandatory. I would like to make that rule someday.

We have all of 10 minutes now that we have arrived to meet the man who will host the show to tell him what we want to talk about, to hand him the questions we’ve written up, and to help guide him. He’s a bit sidetracked by the fact that the questions are all in English. After a seriously condensed introduction, we walk down one flight of stairs to our studio. We slide into our seats at 12:01. The show has started, but we have 3 minutes of intro commercials and music before we have to start talking. And for me to figure out how exactly these headphones work.

I want to be really focused on what I’m supposed to say, but honestly am just trying to take in the whole environment and what it is exactly I am expected to do. My first answer is not very clear, as I am distracted by the music piped into my earphones in the background, and I am sure that everyone must be able to hear the total panic in my voice. This is live?? Like – I don’t get any re-dos? All these random, faceless people are listening to what I say, as I say it? The thought is quite terrifying to me.

I am put at ease somehow, however, by the fact that my host admits during our first break that he is equally nervous. He hasn’t ever had a foreigner on his show before. And also doesn’t feel confident about his English (even though it’s really good). I figure if he can be nervous and still sound really good and talk easily, then I should convince myself to try to do the same. I try to will myself to relax and sound really confident.

When I can’t follow certain parts of what is said in Nepali during our show (it’s mostly in Nepali, but I am allowed to answer in English), I am fascinated by looking at the glass that separates our small compartment and the producer’s compartment. It is just like a fish tank. Without any fish, or water.

At the bottom are shells, coral, and ceramic mermaids. I can count the number of Nepalis I know on one hand who have seen the ocean or shells. Who exactly chose THIS is the decor for a room suspended up above the city in a land of mountains?

As if to anticipate my discomfort with the waterless tank summoning the ocean in the mountains, someone has hung a traditional Nepali purse on the side of the wall inside the glass. Yes, that feels about right. It is from the hills. Ok. I can focus again. Which is good, because Rajesh is finishing, and our host is getting ready to ask me another question.

After my initial panic, I start to ease more and more into the interview. I don’t say anything very brilliant, but try to convince myself it’s okay, because I’m at least sure I’ve not said anything false or harmful. And for today, that has to be enough. I am lucky that Rajesh is on a roll – he can speak forever about anything and everything. And this fact is extremely comforting to me all of the sudden.

I am enjoying this experience, but in kind of a painful suffering way. The kind where you know you’ll be really excited about it afterwards. But during, it just really wasn’t that fun. I am watching the clock the whole time, just waiting for it to be over.

And as soon as it is, I feel relief. I think – okay! Now I get it. And our host is really great. I like him. It’s fascinating watching him and the producer do their thing. Ok, now I’m ready to do it again. Let’s go!

Our host is really kind and invites us for tea after the show and says he’ll have us back. I’ve already decided I won’t come back – unless I can talk about something I feel really passionate about and have adequately prepared for. I feel grateful he didn’t tell me that I was terrible (or say nothing at all).

Rajesh and I have to go back to work, so we say no to the tea and pop onto the bike and go to grab a quick meal. Somehow I have worked up an appetite. I think it was the nerves.

On the way, I notice a man in a crowd who is dressed all in yellow, walking barefoot, with long dreadlocks and a long, narrow u-shape painted on his forehead. He is a wandering holy man. This is common to see. What is not, is the heavy load that he has balanced on his head as he walks. And the spectacular trident he carries in his right hand. It is bright red and I think it has sparkles.

We also pass something that feels in between a holy celebration and a parade. Apparently it is the Hari Ram Hari Krishnas. They are singing and dancing, carrying colored masts with no writing or pictures, and are handing out fruit and juice to people as they pass by. They have completely blocked one side of the road and traffic is stalled for 10 minutes.

When we get to the restaurant, our egg thukpa soup isn’t very good, really. But it’s simple and easy on the stomach. And it’s come to be my comfort food here.

And I am grateful that life can somehow feel familiar and absolutely new at the same time. Over and over again here.