Tragedy in Nepal

I'm sure you've all heard of the devastating flooding on August 26 that swept away entire towns in minutes. The images and videos are striking: a huge wall of water, ice, rock, mud, and debris surging through river valleys like something out of the Book of Revelation. One moment, it's a beautiful morning in the bazaars (places that could be Anytown, Nepal); the next, a screaming deluge covers the entire valley floor. And when the water recedes, everything is buried beneath meters of silt, all traces of civilization gone. More than one thousand people are confirmed dead, with nearly five thousand still missing. 

I'm far from the impact zone, and my community remains unaffected. But you're never too insulated from a tragedy here, given the Wild West that is Nepali social media. I've seen some horrible gore on there: a video went viral of two men robbing a corpse in the floodwater of her gold jewelry. Bystanders film as rescue crews fish mangled, naked bodies out of the river. It's hard to avoid these images, and of course, my community is eager to tell me about them, to show me what they watched. 

The tragedy has resulted in sort of a muted beginning to the holiday season. Starting in early August, I felt like the holiday of Teej was closing in on me. Every night, just as I was about to drift off into dreamland, loudspeakers in the hills around my house started blasting those hackle-raising Nepali songs that might drive me to madness. Whether it's one song or a thousand different ones, I couldn't tell you: same melody, same voices. And every night, the Teej songs got closer and closer...Until the floods happened. And then the enthusiasm for the holiday was hard to muster. My family had a small Dar Khanne Din (feasting day) celebration, but that was about it. I heard music on the day of Teej and went to check it out, but when I arrived, it was just the speaker blaring Teej git; no people were around. I wonder what the national mood will be for the biggest holidays of the year: Dashain in October and Tihar in November. 

A small Teej gathering.

For more about what the Teej holiday is, its cultural significance, and its rituals, I wrote about it last year (check it out here), but let me provide a quick summary: Teej is the Nepali Hindu holiday of womanhood and matrimony. There's a whole month-long buildup to the actual day, and it's all about dressing up in saris and dancing for hours on end. Anyone who knows me knows that this is my nightmare. My preferred celebration of womanhood is a 1960s-style bra-burning.

Here are some updates since my last post. On the work front, I visited another volunteer's site to observe and snap some pics while he and others held a Breast Cancer Awareness Training. I'm slowly getting to see every corner of the Arghakhanchi District. I returned home from that, and the next day, went to observe lemon sapling planting at my ward chairman's house nearby.

I was perhaps a sort of agitator in the orchard. I was talking to the women carrying soil and compost up and down the hill (with a slope that felt like 45 degrees, and some women were dry heaving from the exertion) and asked how much they were getting paid. 600 rupees per day was the answer. But wait, I said, you receive 700 per day for rice planting, and this work is more difficult. They agreed and said I should go speak with the man employing them. I had not the courage to broach that conversation. Apparently, I have limits to labor organizing, and so I just pretended like I didn't understand which way the conversation had turned. Instead, later as a consolation, I assented to their requests to get them visas so they could come work in my American home as housekeepers. What a progressive I am.

I also had a site visit from some staff members, who came by the house as part of a routine check-up to talk with me about my second year in service. My Dai made a comment about how he wants me to write a grant and distribute resources so that I'm remembered in the community. (This is a separate issue, but I won't be writing a grant. I have conflicting feelings about Peace Corps in a post-USAID world, where volunteers are supposed to draw on their personal networks for "grant" funding rather than appropriated federal funds.) I've heard this from him and others before, and it's an interesting glimpse into cultural perceptions of memory and legacy. Why do I need to leave behind something physical? Beehive boxes will break and mold in a few years (given the level of management around here) but won't the way I played board games with the kids, worked alongside women in the rice paddies, and danced around at Ekadashi live on in their memories for a long time? Maybe not, but I'll always remember my time in Nepal. 

Another cultural difference was highlighted at the site visit. My Dai called my Program Manager fat to his face. My manager took it in stride, turning to me and saying he's used to these comments. I think that unsolicited comments on appearance are one of my favorite aspects of Nepali culture! Although lately I've been told I'm walking too much and getting too thin; those comments can keep coming. 

Just like school, find me in the back row of a training.

What else? For a few rainy days, I existed in a haze. My days were occupied by reading about 50 pages of Infinite Jest, then taking a nap, then reading again, then dozing. Which was appropriate given the themes of the novel: I've been entertaining myself to death this last year. Since January, I've read 32 books and watched 165 movies. When will I ever have this much freedom to be a layabout again?

I also came to find out that I am apparently the perfect demographic for the novel. In the 10th anniversary foreward to IJ, Dave Eggers writes that first time readers average about 25 years old. And in the 20th anniversary foreward, Tom Bissell mentions that he read IJ during his Peace Corps Pre-Service Training in Uzbekistan in the late '90s. 

What else? I continue to impress my community by remembering everyone's names. They think I'm a magician, but really, I'm a corporate power player in disguise. I hardly ever forget a name, a face, or little tidbits about a person. If I decided to play the game, no doubt I would rise through the ranks of corporatedom (this is what I tell myself, anyway). My plan is to abandon all this hippie nonsense and take a job with an evil megacorp when I return stateside. 

And that's the update. Not much to share, but more interesting months are ahead as I visit Ilam to see red pandas and trek around the Dhorpatan Valley and Lower Mustang. So, stay tuned! 

Here I Yam! hamming it up for the camera.