I’m writing from Anuraj’s oldest sister’s house in Kathmandu. We had been staying with his youngest sister and her family since Monday, and are spreading our love and clothes at his other sister’s house now. I arrived in Kathmandu late last Thursday night (July 31) – the trip was mostly uneventful but exhausting.
On Friday, Anuraj took Anusha and me to Nagarkot, a mountain town about an hour outside of Kathmandu. This was a breath of fresh air for us – literally! The drive itself was beautiful and green, winding up the mountain. We stayed in the nicest hotel in the town, perched on top of a grand hill. You could actually see the Himalaya’s from our room. It was clean cool air, foggy and rainy at times, sunny and warm other times. Anusha enjoyed the fish (in tanks and the ceramic pond), the ceramic animals / plant holders, the pool and the music that trickled down from the gift shop in the morning, the music from our Nepali “jazz” musicians during dinner, and the music that blared from the bar on Saturday night. It was hard to leave, knowing we would be returning to Kathmandu, city of traffic and pollution.
And being in Kathmandu just makes me miss Nepalgunj. The (mostly) quietness and simplicity of that city and the people, the familiarity, our little place and our cook. The adjustment is difficult.
Anuraj took this week off from work, which has been good. Anusha is now used to him and even let him put her down for a nap the other day! We are desperately searching for a place to live. Well, mostly Anuraj is doing the searching and I’m being desperate (though I am petitioning the few people I know here). I’m ready to find our own place – an oasis from the city. Let’s hope something comes up sooner rather than later.
Anusha is very much enjoying her cousins – and all the cool toys at their respective houses. She is also being a trouper as we hike around the city and take public transportation.
A highlight in the week since our return from Nagarkot was our outing yesterday – Anuraj met his friend and former supervisor of his UNMIN unit at Garden of Dreams, a beautiful green garden with fountains, benches and lots of grass and trees. Anusha and I wandered around and intermittently visited with Anuraj and Eddie. Then we treated Anusha to some ice cream (which she had been asking for in sign language since the morning) at a coffee shop (“Java” it reminds me of a US city coffee shop). We wandered around a bit and found some delicious donuts stuffed with cream – oh so good, and I didn’t even get sick! We dodged rain for the second day and ended up investing in a big family size umbrella.
So, that’s life in these parts. I am eager to hear from you, my friends and family. Keep me posted by email or “comments” on the blog.
Thursday, August 7, 2008
Wednesday, July 16, 2008
Leaving Nepalgunj for the Big Kahuna
Jill & Anusha on the train to Philadelphia (May 30 '08)I thought a little update would be in order. I haven't been maximizing my Internet access since I've been here hence the recent post and photos! Hope you enjoy them and I'll try to post some more.
Anusha and I are in Goshen, IN where we've been enjoying time with family. We will leave the US to head back to Nepal on July 30. To say that Anuraj is ready for us to come back is an understatement. I can only imagine -- he's been in Nepalgunj by his lonely self for a month and a half while Anusha and I have been gallivanting around Pennsylvania, Indiana, Michigan and Virginia! Actually, I'm ready to go back to. While I have loved every minute of being here, I do miss my new home. So, that's good!
The new news: Anuraj got transferred to Kathmandu. To make a long story short, his job was on the verge of being eliminated (actually, almost everyone else that he works with no longer works with UNMIN) because of UNMIN's mandate. Just the other week he received an official invitation to stay with UNMIN's Child Protection Unit. It will be him and one other person (down from a 15-ish person unit). The other units have also been substantially minimized and everyone is now located in Kathmandu. This is actually a relief for all of us. For obvious reasons -- like not having to worry about finding a new job. Further more, it seems that his work UNMIN will take on a new challenge -- which is fantastic. He (in my humble opinion) had been doing great work, but was definitely ready for a challenge and I think this new position and structure will offer that. He'll continue to be out in the "field," will do more to coordinate with other INGO's, and will be working at the policy level as well, which is a huge thing. Anyways, we're excited about his job and are grateful for the smooth transition.
This means we're leaving Nepalgunj. Actually, Anuraj already packed up all our stuff and had it shipped to Kathmandu. He's in the process of scoping places out for us to live. For all of you buddies who offer prayers up for us this is one . . . new housing, new neighborhood, new friends, the transition for all of us. I absolutely loved Nepalgunj. I absolutely hate the pollution, traffic, and overwhelming-ness of Kathmandu. The benefits, however, are the fact that we will be near to his two sisters, which means trustworthy childcare for Anusha. People are always coming through Katmandu, which means increased social traffic and connections for me (yahoo). I need to do my practicum to complete my masters degree, so I will be looking for opportunities to do that. But my first priority will be language study. As soon as I get back to Kathmandu (locals call is KTM, I like to call it K'town) I'm going to find me a language tutor or class or something to get my chops speaking Nepali. If I'm not careful, Anusha will be fluent before I can utter a full sentence. I'm also hoping to find some sort of fellowship group or at least get to the Catholic, English services occasionally. So, while my body and senses cringe at the thought of KTM, my spirit is hopeful that the peacefulness that I experienced in Nepalgunj -- thanks to the fabulous sun, the trees, the gardens, the animals, the people -- will transcend Katmandu's dirty streets and air. This also means we might have better access (i.e. faster internet, dependable mail, etc.). I'll keep you posted (no pun intended) on that.
So, for all you peeps out there who are still reading this, keep us in your prayers -- as Anusha and I travel back (she is walking now, which she wasn't doing when we came here in May!), as Anuraj and I look for apartments and neighborhoods to move to, as Anusha and I make the transition back to life in Nepal, and now life in the big city. I just hope that God can be as good to me in Katmandu as God was in Nepalgunj!
The Buddha Factor
When I first heard that they had hired a “boy,” to help with the housework, I thought they were confusing “boy” with “girl.” “No,” my husband clarified, “it’s a fourteen year old boy.” “Aren’t there child labor laws here?” I asked, almost irately. Why in the world did they hire a fourteen year old boy and are you sure he’s fourteen? What if he’s younger?” “They found him at one of the mines, he was working there. And the law in Nepal says that a child can begin working at the age of thirteen.” My husband was in somewhat of a predicament, being a “Child Protection” worker for the United Nations Mission in Nepal.
I went to their house, soon after we heard the news. He was indeed a boy, and I wasn’t convinced that he was fourteen. Maybe twelve. But he worked his butt off, and always with a smile. He actually seemed to enjoy his role, taking care of this household. Picking up after everyone, putting things away and keeping the house in order. The woman of the house kept him busy with cleaning and cutting up vegetables. She was going to teach him how to cook and he had already learned how to make roti. He was learning to make good chai. And in the mornings, he would clean off Deepak-ji’s car with a rag, taking off all the dust that had accumulated the previous day and night.
Often, he would complain to her that he didn’t have enough to do, and started finding work for himself like scrubbing down doors. Buddha would come with us out shopping, to carry the bags for us. Shilpi would send him out to the market on his own, to pick up things here and there for her.
The first time I saw him eat, I cried. I was sitting at the table and saw Shilpi give him a plate of rice with lentils. He squatted in the corner of the kitchen and gobbled it down. The second time I saw him eat in the corner of the kitchen, my husband, the child protection advisor, was with me at the table.
“Look behind you,” I told him. “When I first saw him do that, I cried.” And I cried again. “Can’t he at least eat at the table?” “I asked him,” my husband told me. “But he said no.” “Is that because Shilpi told him to eat in the kitchen?” I inquired. “I think he just prefers it there,” my husband defended. “Maybe,” I said, “or maybe he thinks that he deserves to be there, as if he doesn’t deserve to eat at the table?” Maybe I was reading too much into it, or maybe not.” “What’s hard,” I continued, “is the fact that he is treated well here. I would be afraid for them to fire him and send him out, who knows where he would end up or who would be his employer, or what they would do to him. Maybe he’s better off here?”
I stayed for a month at their house, and became more and more convinced that Buddha was at the right place. Shilpi would often send him outside to play cricket with her 7 and 3½ year old boys. Sometimes, when there wasn’t anything to do, Buddha would play Parcheesi (a floor board game) or watch some tv. As far as the life of fourteen year old houseboy is concerned, he was doing well. He worked hard, he did it with a smile, and he got to be a boy and a part of a healthy family.
My predicament is lessening, my conundrum waning. I don’t cry when I see him eating in the corner, I’ve gotten used to it – or maybe I just don’t see it anymore. I try to see that he is included in things. Tonight, they invited him along to go out to eat to celebrate the seven year old’s birthday. And that was enough to make all of us smile.
I went to their house, soon after we heard the news. He was indeed a boy, and I wasn’t convinced that he was fourteen. Maybe twelve. But he worked his butt off, and always with a smile. He actually seemed to enjoy his role, taking care of this household. Picking up after everyone, putting things away and keeping the house in order. The woman of the house kept him busy with cleaning and cutting up vegetables. She was going to teach him how to cook and he had already learned how to make roti. He was learning to make good chai. And in the mornings, he would clean off Deepak-ji’s car with a rag, taking off all the dust that had accumulated the previous day and night.
Often, he would complain to her that he didn’t have enough to do, and started finding work for himself like scrubbing down doors. Buddha would come with us out shopping, to carry the bags for us. Shilpi would send him out to the market on his own, to pick up things here and there for her.
The first time I saw him eat, I cried. I was sitting at the table and saw Shilpi give him a plate of rice with lentils. He squatted in the corner of the kitchen and gobbled it down. The second time I saw him eat in the corner of the kitchen, my husband, the child protection advisor, was with me at the table.
“Look behind you,” I told him. “When I first saw him do that, I cried.” And I cried again. “Can’t he at least eat at the table?” “I asked him,” my husband told me. “But he said no.” “Is that because Shilpi told him to eat in the kitchen?” I inquired. “I think he just prefers it there,” my husband defended. “Maybe,” I said, “or maybe he thinks that he deserves to be there, as if he doesn’t deserve to eat at the table?” Maybe I was reading too much into it, or maybe not.” “What’s hard,” I continued, “is the fact that he is treated well here. I would be afraid for them to fire him and send him out, who knows where he would end up or who would be his employer, or what they would do to him. Maybe he’s better off here?”
I stayed for a month at their house, and became more and more convinced that Buddha was at the right place. Shilpi would often send him outside to play cricket with her 7 and 3½ year old boys. Sometimes, when there wasn’t anything to do, Buddha would play Parcheesi (a floor board game) or watch some tv. As far as the life of fourteen year old houseboy is concerned, he was doing well. He worked hard, he did it with a smile, and he got to be a boy and a part of a healthy family.
My predicament is lessening, my conundrum waning. I don’t cry when I see him eating in the corner, I’ve gotten used to it – or maybe I just don’t see it anymore. I try to see that he is included in things. Tonight, they invited him along to go out to eat to celebrate the seven year old’s birthday. And that was enough to make all of us smile.
Thursday, June 19, 2008
Coming to Harrisonburg
Just wanted to let folks know that I'll be in Harrisonburg June 24 - July 1. I've already contacted a few people about getting together, but if I haven't and you want to, email me. I'll go to Park View Mennonite Church on Sunday (June 29).
Looking forward to seeing people!
Looking forward to seeing people!
Thursday, June 12, 2008
I'm in the US
Just wanted to let everyone know that I'm in the United States of America. I arrived Monday, May 26, Memorial Day. Anusha and I had a long but luckily uneventful and comfortable flight(s) to JFK airport where my sister picked us up. We spent the last week of May in Lansdale, PA at my friends home, where we recouped, went for walks and I even got a pedicure! On Thursday of that week, my mom drove out and hung out with Anusha and I as we took in festivities for another friends wedding, just outside of Philadelphia. Monday, June 2, we drove back with my mom to Goshen, where we spent the week trying to be helpful in preparation for a family reunion. This past week, Anusha and I, along with her grandmother Landis, aunt Carrie, Aunt Julie, uncle Marc and cousin Adria, were enjoying the cool, crisp weather of Grand Marais, Michigan. We just arrived back in Goshen where we'll be for the next week. This weekend is the Melvin and Esther Landis family reunion at our house.
I'll be in Harrisonburg the last week of June -- I'm hoping to get there around the 25th and will be there for 6 days.
I will be posting pictures and some more writings soon.
I hope to see folks in Harrisonburg. Be sure to email me and let me know when you'll be around!
I'll be in Harrisonburg the last week of June -- I'm hoping to get there around the 25th and will be there for 6 days.
I will be posting pictures and some more writings soon.
I hope to see folks in Harrisonburg. Be sure to email me and let me know when you'll be around!
Thursday, May 8, 2008
And that cost how much?
I had been without internet since I got back to Nepalgunj because my cell phone was acting up. Then we got it fixed and our extension cord/converter was on the brink for a few days and we had to get that fixed. The good thing about this place is that you can pretty much get anything fixed. Example #1) Extension cords (which is also a converter meaning Nepali, European or American plugs can fit) – our iron blew both of them out and in “normal” circumstances, meaning “in the US,” I would have chucked them and bought a new one (albeit grudgingly). But not in Nepal! We took it to the place that we bought it and the guy proceeded to open it up, quickly repair a wire and add another 3 meters so it’s a nice long cord rather than only a foot!
Example #2) Cell phone: this seriously needs to be ditched, in all practical and annoying senses, but it costs a lot to buy a new cell phone. So, despite the fact that the card with all the information keeps on getting loose, the plug hole almost came out, and the phone itself is almost coming apart, 2 different cell phone places and Anuraj have attempted to fix this thing. Super glue to the rescue! Yes, super glue. And it's doing a decent job!
Other examples: my broken band from my wrist watch has been super glued 2 different times (we love superglue); my Birkenstocks are waiting patiently to be taken to one of the many random shoe repair guys (haven’t seen any ladies); the plumber came in and drilled 2 holes in our bathroom wall so we could get a water pipe in and out for our washing machine. Tailors of course can make or fix anything. And all of this costs? Usually less than $2.
Talk about cost; let’s go to the vegetable stand, where I go occasionally, but where our cook most often frequents. She brings back her receipts, meticulously showing me what she bought and how much it cost. The other day she brought back 1 kilo of tomatoes, 1 kilo of sag (i.e. spinach or kale or collard or the days leafy green special), 1 kilo of potatoes, 1 kilo of onions, some green chilies and okra. It was somewhere between 60 and 100 rupees which means $1-$2 for everything! When I converted it and it really regisitered in my mind, I was floored. What would she have done if I had told her all that would have cost $10-$15 in the US, at least? Fruit is a bit more expensive. A kilo of oranges, bananas or watermelon will cost you $1 easily (for each).
So, while cars here cost twice as much as they do in the US and Europe (the government posts a tax on new vehicles equivalent to the cost of the vehicle), vegetables are dirt cheap (pun not intended, but quite clever if I do say so myself)!!
Example #2) Cell phone: this seriously needs to be ditched, in all practical and annoying senses, but it costs a lot to buy a new cell phone. So, despite the fact that the card with all the information keeps on getting loose, the plug hole almost came out, and the phone itself is almost coming apart, 2 different cell phone places and Anuraj have attempted to fix this thing. Super glue to the rescue! Yes, super glue. And it's doing a decent job!
Other examples: my broken band from my wrist watch has been super glued 2 different times (we love superglue); my Birkenstocks are waiting patiently to be taken to one of the many random shoe repair guys (haven’t seen any ladies); the plumber came in and drilled 2 holes in our bathroom wall so we could get a water pipe in and out for our washing machine. Tailors of course can make or fix anything. And all of this costs? Usually less than $2.
Talk about cost; let’s go to the vegetable stand, where I go occasionally, but where our cook most often frequents. She brings back her receipts, meticulously showing me what she bought and how much it cost. The other day she brought back 1 kilo of tomatoes, 1 kilo of sag (i.e. spinach or kale or collard or the days leafy green special), 1 kilo of potatoes, 1 kilo of onions, some green chilies and okra. It was somewhere between 60 and 100 rupees which means $1-$2 for everything! When I converted it and it really regisitered in my mind, I was floored. What would she have done if I had told her all that would have cost $10-$15 in the US, at least? Fruit is a bit more expensive. A kilo of oranges, bananas or watermelon will cost you $1 easily (for each).
So, while cars here cost twice as much as they do in the US and Europe (the government posts a tax on new vehicles equivalent to the cost of the vehicle), vegetables are dirt cheap (pun not intended, but quite clever if I do say so myself)!!
Motorcycle Diaries
(Sunday, May 4, 2008)
A few years ago I thought it would be cool to ride on the back of a motorcycle for a long trip and write a book . . . about “life on the back of a motorbike,” or something to that effect. For those of you who are avid cycle riders (drivers or passengers), you know there is something special about riding motorcycle. The sensation of air on your skin as you can feel the temperature changes as you go from tops to bottoms of hills (at least in Virginia). For me, it just gives me time to observe, enjoy the full view, and think.
Sunday, Anuraj and I had a “date.” His coworker from Italy offered to watch Anusha for us so we could “do something.” “Let’s go on a motorcycle ride,” I chided. And we finally were able to borrow our landlady’s son’s little 250cc (which is what most of the bikes around here are). Anuraj had the helmet – as is the case with Nepali riders (driver with helmet, passenger(s) without). I had a bandana on to keep my hair from flying all over my face, which didn’t end up being a problem since we didn’t go faster than 40 or 45 mph! (Not because of the motorcycle, it’s simply the traffic!)
We left around 5:00 p.m. and stopped at a motorcycle repair place that repaired the loud and high screeching idle within 5 minutes for less than $1. (Refer to the post “that costs how much” . . . this would be another example of what can be repaired here in what time frame for what cost!) Got gas – which by the way, they filled up in a very efficient manner. (Let me paint the picture for you: The gas attendant stood at the pump while 2 or 3 motorcycles hovered right next to him. They opened up their tank, told him how much they needed. He filled it up, ½ liter for cycle #1, 3 liters for cycle #2, and 2 liters for us (all on the same meter reading). He turned it off the gas/meter, everyone paid, they drove off and the next three bikes cozied up for their refill.)
So we got our gas, then we took off. “Where do you want to go? I can take you to a place where there are landless people living? We were just there for work the other day? Do you want to go?” Anuraj asks me. Yes, I’m thinking, I want to go, but I want to ride. “Or do you want to go another time?” “Yes! . . . I want to get out of Nepalgunj.” Besides the times I’ve gone to Katmandu, I have not been out of Nepalgunj. With no Indian visa, I can’t go with Anuraj across the border, which is only 15 minutes away, for shopping. And, Anuraj is weary of the buses here. So, without a car, and unless we rent a car or a really good bus company starts running here, or unless we would do like some of those people were doing and ride bike (who would die first, Anusha or me), therefore, I haven’t left Nepalgunj proper!
We drive, down the straight, paved main road, and in 5 to 10 minutes we’re out of Nepalgunj. You can’t tell, really, like Pennsylvania, one town runs into the other. We drove for about 20 minutes and Anuraj tells me that we could take this motorcycle to one of the parks (i.e. Forests/national parks) and it would only take 2 hours to get there. My butt is already numb and I’m wondering how I would manage a 2 hour ride! Anyways, we finally get to an intersection where we can go east, north or west. We head east and we reach something I haven’t seen since I’ve gotten here: forest! Trees everywhere, with little trails poking out of them. We pull over and stop and I can hardly believe my ears. It is seriously more silent that I have experienced in a really long time. No vehicles, no lights, no houses, no hum of electricity or traffic or anything. And the forest was cool and smelled of fragrant fresh sprouts and shoots. “Anusha would love this,” I told Anuraj. It might take her back to our days of walking around in Park Woods in Harrisonburg, although even there it was not so silent.
After a few minutes, we headed back, exactly the way we came (minus a detour or two) and as I was riding, bareheaded (meaning no helmet – which by the way, I haven’t done for 10 years – the last time was in Florida where there is no helmet law), I was inspired. For the first time in weeks, I had ideas of what to write. So, what follows are some anecdotes, stories, thoughts, experiences. I’ve posted one other tonight and will post more in the next few days. Hopefully they will keep you entertained!
A few years ago I thought it would be cool to ride on the back of a motorcycle for a long trip and write a book . . . about “life on the back of a motorbike,” or something to that effect. For those of you who are avid cycle riders (drivers or passengers), you know there is something special about riding motorcycle. The sensation of air on your skin as you can feel the temperature changes as you go from tops to bottoms of hills (at least in Virginia). For me, it just gives me time to observe, enjoy the full view, and think.
Sunday, Anuraj and I had a “date.” His coworker from Italy offered to watch Anusha for us so we could “do something.” “Let’s go on a motorcycle ride,” I chided. And we finally were able to borrow our landlady’s son’s little 250cc (which is what most of the bikes around here are). Anuraj had the helmet – as is the case with Nepali riders (driver with helmet, passenger(s) without). I had a bandana on to keep my hair from flying all over my face, which didn’t end up being a problem since we didn’t go faster than 40 or 45 mph! (Not because of the motorcycle, it’s simply the traffic!)
We left around 5:00 p.m. and stopped at a motorcycle repair place that repaired the loud and high screeching idle within 5 minutes for less than $1. (Refer to the post “that costs how much” . . . this would be another example of what can be repaired here in what time frame for what cost!) Got gas – which by the way, they filled up in a very efficient manner. (Let me paint the picture for you: The gas attendant stood at the pump while 2 or 3 motorcycles hovered right next to him. They opened up their tank, told him how much they needed. He filled it up, ½ liter for cycle #1, 3 liters for cycle #2, and 2 liters for us (all on the same meter reading). He turned it off the gas/meter, everyone paid, they drove off and the next three bikes cozied up for their refill.)
So we got our gas, then we took off. “Where do you want to go? I can take you to a place where there are landless people living? We were just there for work the other day? Do you want to go?” Anuraj asks me. Yes, I’m thinking, I want to go, but I want to ride. “Or do you want to go another time?” “Yes! . . . I want to get out of Nepalgunj.” Besides the times I’ve gone to Katmandu, I have not been out of Nepalgunj. With no Indian visa, I can’t go with Anuraj across the border, which is only 15 minutes away, for shopping. And, Anuraj is weary of the buses here. So, without a car, and unless we rent a car or a really good bus company starts running here, or unless we would do like some of those people were doing and ride bike (who would die first, Anusha or me), therefore, I haven’t left Nepalgunj proper!
We drive, down the straight, paved main road, and in 5 to 10 minutes we’re out of Nepalgunj. You can’t tell, really, like Pennsylvania, one town runs into the other. We drove for about 20 minutes and Anuraj tells me that we could take this motorcycle to one of the parks (i.e. Forests/national parks) and it would only take 2 hours to get there. My butt is already numb and I’m wondering how I would manage a 2 hour ride! Anyways, we finally get to an intersection where we can go east, north or west. We head east and we reach something I haven’t seen since I’ve gotten here: forest! Trees everywhere, with little trails poking out of them. We pull over and stop and I can hardly believe my ears. It is seriously more silent that I have experienced in a really long time. No vehicles, no lights, no houses, no hum of electricity or traffic or anything. And the forest was cool and smelled of fragrant fresh sprouts and shoots. “Anusha would love this,” I told Anuraj. It might take her back to our days of walking around in Park Woods in Harrisonburg, although even there it was not so silent.
After a few minutes, we headed back, exactly the way we came (minus a detour or two) and as I was riding, bareheaded (meaning no helmet – which by the way, I haven’t done for 10 years – the last time was in Florida where there is no helmet law), I was inspired. For the first time in weeks, I had ideas of what to write. So, what follows are some anecdotes, stories, thoughts, experiences. I’ve posted one other tonight and will post more in the next few days. Hopefully they will keep you entertained!
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