Breaking speed

Yesterday I walked up a path I've walked so many times to my friends' place in a village area outside of Hetauda. He's built a home and there are 12 girls living there - who otherwise would have been at risk of being trafficked to India.

Instead, they are living and working together, studying, planting rice and cooking, creating and maintaining a beautiful, peaceful home. I so enjoy visiting them whenever I have the opportunity.

After being a guest in a country where it is considered an honor both to be a guest, as well as to provide comforts to your guest, I have to say that it's a nice change of pace to visit a home where they're willing to put me straight to work.

The girls were drying rice in the day sun, rice that had just been harvested from the field. We pulled up our pant legs, sifting huge piles of rice with our feet. Spreading it into thin layers on the ground. It was easy work, physical, tangible, satisfying, joyful.

They then put me to work weeding the vegetable garden. My hands in the dirt, I looked at the young women around me. Everyone pitching in. Silence balanced with laughter. Broken occasionally by song. We would work until we needed a break. Then sit on the wall, entertaining those crouched down. Until we returned to the dirt.

Our movements slow...this is not work that can be sped through. But with so many people, it goes quickly. And easily.

There are so many from the West in Nepal who are trying to change the speed here. Trying to impose their ways of doing things. Trying to make people think in a different way. Trying to propose that their development is "the" development.

But just as much as speed, humans need stillness and slowness. Just as much as the individual, we need the group. Just as much as noise, we need silence. Without one, how can we have the other?

Without the East, how can we have the West?

And why do we try so desperately to change the other....to be convinced that we are right?

Maybe there is a place for work that isn't organized. Where people come and go as they are able. And break out into song. Work that is intentional and human...and not "outcome" oriented. But that is present to the world around.

Maybe we need to still be walking through the rice every once in a while. Feeling the grains stick to our feet. Watching the husks dry in the sun. Slowly, slowly...taking in what is happening.

Fall

A few days ago I celebrated my two year anniversary in Nepal. Unfortunately, in bed, as I was laid out with a fever. But I was internally celebrating, nevertheless.

It was hard for me to imagine being in Nepal for two years when I first arrived. But here I am, in certain ways, quite a changed person. No matter what other reasons might exist, I guess this is partially why we really come if we are honest with ourselves.

I am enjoying feeling at home in a country that at one point felt so foreign.

I am enjoying switching easily in conversations between Nepali and English.

I am enjoying knowing finally what work it is here that brings me genuine joy.

I continue to enjoy simple pleasures: like Nepali tea and full conversations with no words; dancing and joke telling as part of trainings; knowing my neighbours and the fact that my corner shop carries everything really necessary.

And I am enjoying knowing that I am on my last stretch of time here. Time which I am really grateful for.

For me life in Nepal has a level of intensity to it, as well as a circularity and fluidity. I am starting to wonder what it will be like to go back to things that feel normal, predictable, and linear. I imagine that I will find this alternatively hard and comforting.

Here the weather is crisp. Sunny. The mountains stretching along the horizon. On and on and on. Dust is filling the air. More and more every day. And outside of the city the fields have now been cleared of all the rice. Everyone is getting ready for the cold that is starting to set in.

Picture above: evening of dancing at our young professional women's workshop.

Tihar

Tihar is my favorite holiday in Nepal. It's all about singing, dancing, community and neighbors, kids, families, and having fun. It's about lighting candles, inviting prosperity into our lives, honoring animals and renewing relationships.

I headed up briefly to the mountains during Tihar and got to join in on a rockin' village dance party high up in the now cooooold mountain foothills. The views of the peaks this time of year are breathtaking.

I came back to town with 2 nasty blisters, a cold, and a fresh and clear mind. Plus this photo.

The boy above, when he saw himself, got the hugest grin on his face. He said, "I look like an eagle"! Indeed.

For my brother, Cameron

Dear Cameron,

I took this picture just for you.

How cool are the deer's antlers?

Love, sis

Dad visits!

Mountains and monasteries
Crazy local bus rides
Women sitting on my father's lap
Children sitting on mine
Praying, praying, no one will puke this time
Taking in the quiet of the morning fog of Lumbini
A welcome reprieve from the oppressive heat of the day
Moments of stillness
And home
Wrapped up together, mingling together
Speaking to each other

Sacred cows

Last week we volunteers had the opportunity to gather in Lumbini, birthplace of Buddha, for 2 days of work. Program planning, strategizing, discussing... And evening gumning (that's Nepangregi, for my fellow half English, half Nepali speakers).

This cow slept at the front gate of the buddhist nunnery where we were staying. She arrived a year ago, and hasn't left since.

My dad arrived in Nepal 2 days ago. I am seeing the country again from a visitor's eyes.

Tomorrow we head for a 3 day trip on the Trisuli river: from Kathmandu to Naranghat, which was very close to where my first home was in Nepal. Perhaps it's not exactly the same as canoeing down the Deschutes as we used to do when I was young. But - on multiple levels - feels like circling around back to home. Just in a new way each time.

Movement

These days everything is shaking, rumbling, stirring

It has been like this for some time.

Sometimes in a pleasant way – laced with hope and excitement.

Sometimes it’s quite uncomfortable.

I guess change is like this.

Today it started shaking outside also. First my computer screen. Then my chair, the windows.

It felt like the world was reflecting my inner self back to me.

Outside on the street, my neighbour claimed it must have been a 5.5. I wonder what it was near the center, he mused.

Aren’t we always at the center?

If we die today, however, we’ve done our meditation and we’ll die with our spirit happy, in the right way, he says.

He says this with a smile on his face.

He’s a brilliant artist. And can say these things and they sound authentic. Not like platitudes.

We had just eaten. Rice and potatoes and turmeric and spices and cabbage and onions and garlic and peppers and achaar.

We had talked about the transitory nature of life. How quickly everything can change. And how in our life- how often it does.

As I was running down the stairs, I realized how easy it was to leave everything behind if I had needed to.

Outside of the immediately practical things (my passport, wallet, a flashlight, pen and paper, water and a house key), everything truly important to me isn’t material.

This, somehow, is reassuring.

Nora: I felt like it was appropriate that I spent today (your wedding day) with artists and philosophers and home-made food cooked with love.

In the calm now, it’s hard to know if the shaking was the beginning or the end.

And really, it doesn’t really matter.

It’s just good to enjoy the calm while it is here.

Knowing that peace and chaos can only ever co-exist.

Monsoon skies

A reflection on weather and our connection with the sky as - with clouds still grumbling outside my office window - the monsoon season starts to come to a close.

Renew.

Burnout. What to do?

Meditate.
Be silent.
Breathe.
Dance.
Run through rivers.
Celebrate.
Light a candle and float it down the river.
Take time to make and eat good food with friends.

Success. Reminder to self: there is always time (and endless ways) to renew the soul.

Photos above from a ceremony from one of my very favorite villages in Nepal where women still take the time to be together, renew their connections, honor their community, make beautiful things, and feast.

To all of you who let me know that you read and enjoy the blog - thank you.

Asan in the evening - and blog audiences

These two pictures are a holding point as I decide what to do with this blog. I took these on one of my walks home from the VSO office to my apartment. A long, chaotic, sometimes exhausting, often magical, walk.

I started this blog because I saw this as one tool that could help keep my connection with my friends and family at home while I am away for so long.

I thought it could also be a way of also processing some of my personal experiences, since I have a hard time motivating myself to write in my journal, but can respond s to my mother's requests for letting her know what is going on with me already.

I figured that I would have a regular readership of about exactly 4. That would be: my mother and my sister, Brian (who, as one of my best friends, is always consistent and there for me and is the type of person to check this regularly no matter what), and a friend here or there who would randomly remember me and wonder what I was up to.

Having a sense that only a few people would ever see what I wrote was actually very freeing. I felt like I could say whatever was really on my mind.

After some time (and with the help of blogger stats), I realized that actually there were a lot of people reading my blog. A lot. Well, this is in comparison to what I expected. Not in comparison to what blogs are capable of.

The highest number of page hits - up until recently - were always from the United States. Naturally. But over time, more and more also from Nepal and India. And now, friends in Nepal outnumber my friends from home looking at whatever I post quite regularly.

In a way, this shows a shift that has also happened within me in the last year and a half. The more and more I am here, the more I am connected to Nepal and the less and less I feel connected to the United States and what is happening there on a daily basis.

In smaller numbers, I've seen a lot of people reading from Saudi Arabia, Australia, Germany, Russia, and Iran. I get a page hit or two from specific friends in Uganda or elsewhere, as well. In total, around 900 page hits every month.

I feel loss around the fact that my wider circle of friends back home don't read my blog as often anymore. Of course, I don't know which specific individuals are actually reading and not reading (unless they tell me). But I can see which country someone is reading from.

I take this as a sign that I am further in the back of the mind of people's who lives are full and busy and moving on. I've been gone for too long. I know this.

Writing for people that I know and love feels really satisfying to me. Writing for someone who may read this is Saudi Arabia is exciting (because technology's ability to connect people is amazing and I LOVE thinking that my experience can be connected to someone's in a country I have never visited in some way), but it also feels a bit odd to me. I can see that someone has looked at, say, 19 posts. But I don't know who they are, why they stumbled across my blog, or what they think about anything I write. There is no conversation or connection with this person (directly at least).


And because the intention of keeping this record was to keep my connection with friends and community at home, I am now wondering where realizing all of this now leaves me.

I'm off on leave soon. Time to get away and refresh. Maybe I'll have new insight when I return.

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.

A letter to my friends

Dear friends in Seattle, Alaska, California, Germany, Kenya, Uganda, India, the UK, Holland, South Africa, the Philippines and especially Portland (because it is home) from talking circles and dancing circles and facilitation circles and at MFS, those who have sent me letters and care packages and emails and notes and stories from your lives and your thoughts:

in the midst of busy-ness and things to do and calendars and schedules and deadlines and reports and papers and work and family and love and play

I send you some peace and space and freedom from the middle of the jungle of Nepal

from the base of a tree where the local population say they have found the new Buddha: Ram Bahadur Bomjom

a young man from the Tamang group

though he will disagree (about being the new Buddha, that is)

this is where he often meditates

sometimes for 3 days without eating, drinking, or moving a muscle

maybe more

I know why he chose this place

it must be one of the most magical places on earth

even though I am far, I think of you all the time

you have helped support my spirit and work and will and courage during this time in Nepal

and have helped me choose this journey

I want you to know how grateful I am

I wouldn't be here without you

Love, Tiffany

Wedding ceremony

A couple of months ago I attended my landlord's family wedding ceremony. I have lived with this family for 6 weeks in the same home, so they feel like - in a way - my Nepali family here. One of them, at least.

A multi-day affair of which I got a window into two of the most important (public) days: the bride's side family party, and then the passing of the bride from one family to another the day after.

The family is Newari, an indigenous group from Nepal. They have quite distinct traditions that feel very different from Hindu (India-origin) families I know.

I can't remember a time I've been to a wedding quite so luxurious, nor beautiful - both visually, but also ceremonially. The two days were a reflection of all of the emotions that intertwine at such a huge life event: excitement, release, anticipation, sorrow, seriousness, closeness and absolute familiarity, strangeness and unfamiliarity, worry and child-like play.

Photos above:

(1) Bride-to-be friends tending to their sister
(2) The bride-to-be at her last party with her mother's family
(3) One of my new friends...
(4) 2nd day: marking the groom's arrival
(5) Celebration after the exchange of the neck garlands - our equivalent of the exchanging of the rings
(6) Salpana, who helps with the work at home
(7) Bride flanked by the women from her family
(8) Father spending a serious moment with his daughter before he helps give her away
(9) The official giving away of the bride...her mother pours water over the bride and groom's hands, her father's hands
(10) Covering of the new wife's face

Girls in nepal: short video

While Nepal is one of the (the?) most diverse countries in the world (in terms of languages, culture, ethnicity, geography) the Hindu religion is imbedded in the every day of almost all parts of Nepal. And as it is religion that helps create our world view, Hinduism creates some strong ties between people and places in Nepal.

This means that even though a girl growing up in the Everest region of Nepal is hundreds of kilometers (distance) and meters (height) away from a girl living in the district where I am working (Makwanpur), their experience is - at least in some ways - extremely similar.

These days I am now working one day a week at the VSO office on gender related work. I love, love, love it. It complements the work I do "in the field" with COSAN. This week, for instance, I am continuing some research about gender and education in Nepal, meeting with the Muslim Women's Organization (the only organization in Nepal run by Muslim Women), and exploring some ideas with fellow volunteers about how VSO can play a stronger role in bringing about increased awareness of gender issues into our partner organizations and schools.

I want to share this video with you. While not an organization that I have any personal experience with, it does a decent job of showing a window into the life of girls in Nepal. It's about 4 and a half minutes long.

I am hopelessly impatient with technology (hence my very short career as a documentary maker) and can't figure out how to hyperlink this (that sounds cool, right?) so you'll have to cut and paste this link.

http://vimeo.com/21243728


Picture above: My 4 year-old neighbor from Hetauda, Smarika. Candid shot - not posed. She would come and "clean" my apartment, sometimes for up to an hours as play. And to be able to hang out with me.

I love Namo Buddha