Kasto raamro!

I exist in a fugue state where the present rapidly converges with the future. How have I been living in Nepal for a month?

I’ve thought about how to frame my experience without relying on grand adjectives or the typical language of West meets East. But I’m not that talented as a writer—I need to rely on this shorthand to impart just how awestruck I feel.  Nepal is truly an alien, spiritual, frightening (re: the roads), and wondrous country.

Himalayan peaks tower above the landscape, sometimes faintly visible through the smog and other times so clearly and majestically defined that I can hardly believe it. I first saw the Himalayas as I departed the plane at Tribhuvan Airport; they stood so perfect and unreal that I’m still not convinced that I wasn't seeing a gigantic matte painting (movie rec: Powell and Pressburger’s Black Narcissus!). I love the mountains, but sometimes they seem to confine my world. I’ll always have an affinity for flatness, despite how strange that must sound to some people, especially those from the Mountain West who are overly represented in my cohort.

View of the Himalayas from Namobuddha (separate blog post coming)

Here are some quick impressions. I live with a generous host family: Mero aama (mother), buwaa (father), bahini (younger sister), and bai (younger brother). The brother is three years old and runs wild throughout our neighborhood; the family calls him "monkey boy."  Earlier this month, I accompanied our neighbor to a wedding ceremony, stopping along the way to record TikToks (there's no escaping the song Ma ta dhale dhale), in which I no doubt looked like a hostage. The wedding guests were a sea of rich reds, purples, and greens, from their saris to their tikkas, and I'm excited to acquire traditional dress of my own.  

My host parents are farmers; they own three cows and some goats and work the terraced fields near the house. There are many great walking paths in my vicinity, and I often let impulse guide my feet; I can stroll through mustard and potato fields, alongside a river, past silkworm and duck farms, over a bridge, and then return on the dusty footpaths. I must be eating five oranges a day, picked straight from the trees in our kitchen garden, as it’s currently the tail end of orange season. I consider myself lucky as I have a Western toilet (no squatting—yet) and a shower head (no hot water). This will surely change when I move to my permanent site in the Arghakhanchi district. 

The community structure was difficult to parse at first but has become clearer to me as I interact more with my neighbors and extended host family. I live in a cluster of about eight houses, all inhabited by members of the same caste. My family is Chhetri, as are our neighbors, all with the surname K.C. From an informal survey of fellow volunteers, it seems many are placed with Chhetri families but some live with those from ethnic groups like the Newar and Rai peoples. My neighborhood cluster is close to agricultural fields, a few tea shops, and then the main paved road leading to larger towns.

Our Pre-Service Training (PST) sites were revealed via a simple map created in PowerPoint; I noticed a large tree featured in the map and jokingly thought I'd tell people where I live by saying "oh, near the big tree." Well, it turns out that this big tree is a prominent landmark in the community, a popular meeting point for older community members (the tree is surrounded by a low stone platform). It also serves as an important marker for my cohort (e.g., "let's meet at the big tree before walking to our training site"). Through my research, I discovered that these trees and their stone rings, called chautari in Nepali, are a common feature of villages.       

My room (before the mosquito net was set up)

Cows, orange trees, and a traditional Nepali mud house

I greatly enjoy my host family, but my PST schedule occupies my days and leaves me just evenings, Saturdays, and quick snatches during weekdays to spend in their company. A typical training day looks something like this:

6:30             Wake up and socialize with my host mom over tea and biscuits 

7:30-9:30     Nepali language class (my favorite words so far: ringataa = dizzy & rangichangi = colorful)  

9:30-10:30   Daal bhaat (traditional Nepali meal eaten twice a day, consisting of rice, a lentil stew, vegetables, and some sort of pickle)  

10:30-11:30 Continued Nepali language and culture class

11:30-12:30 Stretch break and commute to our training site

12:30-5:00   Technical training focused on beekeeping, fruit tree and mushroom cultivation, composting, and nutrition. Includes a 30-minute break for tea

7:00              Evening daal bhaat

8:00-10:00   Shower, review language notes, scroll time, and bed

Cheesecake Factory dupe

Mostly, as with my CBYX-PPP year in Germany, I anticipate this experience will be life-changing in the most mundane way (is that oxymoronic?). I know myself too well to expect any grand revelations but seeing how others live and placing myself in challenging personal and professional situations will subtly alter how I interact with the world—visible, perhaps, only to others and not to myself.  So, stay tuned and keep reading the blog! I'm working on a post—ideally up later this month—about my visits to Namobuddha and Dhulikhel, and the interplay between Nepali Buddhism and Hinduism.  

Dhanyabaad!

Here I Yam!