A Photo Essay

Let's do it this way, shall we? These are out of order, but they document the last month or so pretty accurately. Before I start, I'll give the short update: The rain has stopped ane the mountains are beautiful. Caleen's family came and went, but not before bringing Pop Tarts back into our lives. Pat and Denise did Anapurna Base Camp in 6 days with not enough money for food. I have mono. On that note, let's get into the pictures!

Dashain. Denise nabbed this sepia gem during the big Tika day of the Dashain holiday. I stayed at Sushma's for the whole time this year and had a great time. Father and mother's start, then go the aunts and uncles, then the siblings--oldest to youngest. You only give to those who are younger than you, so adults have classy red cirlces and babies are dripping with blessings. I was squeezed in between Sushma's older brother, Subash, and Sushma. This is a picture of Sushma's turn. One of my favorite parts of tika is that the person putting it on also gives you blessings, blessings in Nepali that I couldn't understand so well last year. Mommy had a baby girl before the oldest son, which died soon after it was born. A whilte ago Mommy told me she thought it was me. This year while she gave me tika, she thanked me for finally coming back.

Mommy. Speaking of Mommy, here she is, with a baby I don't know. We went to her old house on the last day of Dashain. She grew up in a village called Dakshankali, but of course when you get married, you move to your husbands home, which, lucky for me, was Godavari. We rode on top of a bus up through the hills to her old house, and then she led us through the woods on a short-cut, talking about all the swimming she did when she was little and couldn't go to school. This is a neice of hers.

Nepalis always say we look alike. We say, What? You're crazy, we're different nationalities! And then people say, But your noses! They're so big!

Aunty

At Mommy's Mommy's house. Another great photo of the mystery baby... The lighting coming in from the window made for some really beautiful pictures. That's Suraj in the background, Sushma's younger brother, baby, and Sushma. That day the three of us went walking down the hill to pick pears from one of their grandmother's trees. I slipped on a wet rock and fell flat on my back. Denise asked if I'm keeping track of my significant falls in Nepal. I probably should. Aside from that, it was beautiful day.

My final Dashain tika.

Kaalu. Here I put tika on the youngest of the Silwal bunch. I think her real name is Anisha, but I'd never know because at home, kids are never called by their real names, or their "school" names. They're either called 'Chhori' (daughter) or some nickname adopted by all the family members. Kaalo means "black" so this is Kaalu or Kaali Chhori (it rhymes!) because she was dark when she was first born. Anyway, this is me giving her tika and blessings, and I'm in the middle of telling her to keep teaching me Nepali and do a good job wiping her snot, which someone has to tell her to do every 5 seconds. Thanks again to Denise, the photographer.



Flashback, Teej! Back in September we celebrated Teej, the holiday where women fast and pray for their current or future husbands. After two Teejes, we feel confident that it's really just a facade for women to wear red and dance their hearts out. We got dressed up for school this year, too. This is a picture of me and D before heading up to the main Teej 'scene' by our house.



You're allergic? To dancin? I pat myself on the back for this picture, one of my absolute favorites. The time leading up to Dashain is, in our opinion, the most stressful time of year... what with the endles rain and the 6-day work-weeks. What you see here is the pure joy that can ONLY come from the the end of school and the beginning of the Dashain holiday. We specifially thank Liz Casey for the cd mix that let us dance for about 4 hours straight.


Here's one final capture of Sushma and her distant cousin in Dakshankali. As we head out of Dashain and into Tihar (widely thought to be, actually, better than Dashain.... and not unlike Christmas, if you ask me) we are grateful for beautiful weather (It's really the peak of Himal season....... get it?) for the completion of the ever-chaotic Sports Day at school, for good health, for each other. I hope this finds everyone happy and well. Call or write any time. Much love.

Sarah

--Sing Songs As You Go--

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Chris, your beans finally grew!

Working hard to move Katie and Sean out...

Aayush and Sohan do NOT believe Sujit.

Sushma concentrates on a dish

D and Pat watch the sunrise in Pokhara

'The Moms'

Babu turns one year old

'Umm, sure.... I'll help with soccer....'

Sushma and Suz... matching North Faces!

Kindergarten Cop

Don't worry, I've got this head lamp...

How to begin a blog after so many months? As usual, the details are lost in the everyday. Even for me, they are very often only felt, and therefore very hard to squeeze into a one-page update. I hope this finds everyone well. When last I wrote, we were saying goodbye to Chris and hello to a new school year. Now we're climbing out of monsoon season and seeing Katie and Sean off within the week.

Mom and Suz came to visit, and I can't begin to tell you what it was like to see those faces after so many months. It reminded me of a reality that had gotten lost. ‘Home’ and loved ones are always with me, to be sure. But to be able to tell jokes face to face, to monopolize on mom-hugs for a week and a half, and to sleep on a mattress on a stone floor with a snoring Suz, well that's something else entirely. In short, we had a ball.

Speaking of balls, Denise fell playing soccer at school and severely tore some ligaments in her ankle, jump-starting a long, frustrating battle to ensure proper health care in a country where the majority of citizens do not have access to medical care at all. Nevermind the solidarity questions this raised in all of us; Denise remained incredibly more patient than I did, in a purple leg cast and all. I won’t forget the image of her in a busy Kathmandu emergency room, packed with hundreds of people, most of whom would not be seen that day. While they tied Denise’s smashed and swollen leg onto a board of wood (seriously), she made calming, funny faces at the 2-year-old in the next bed, receiving stitches from a severe, bleeding head wound.

And speaking of stitches, Pat got seven in his chin for a nasty gash a few weeks back. This was from a slippery fall during a run in the rain. A majority of our students now believe an alternate version, that Sarah Miss clocked him in the face after he made a rude gender comment. Both Denise and Pat are back up and running. Literally. (I feel the need to point out here that Caleen and I have suffered no serious injuries in the last four months.)

Babu turned one year old last month. If you ask him in Nepali what butterflies do, he looks up to the sky and flaps his hand in the air.

My homeroom put on a stirring rendition of “Let It Be” last week for our class assembly in front of the whole school. As you’ve probably gathered, I teach a combination of English Grammar, long-term reasons for the Civil War, Latin idioms, and Beatles history. They do me proud.

After I spent a month being sick on-and-off, ‘Mommy’ decided that enough was enough and called me over the next morning for my first Shaman healing. I had heard that Guru, our martial arts teacher, office manager, odds and ends extraordinaire at school, was a Jankri, a Shaman priest (a faith healer) but had never experienced it for myself. I went over on an empty stomach around 5:30 on a Tuesday for some early morning gossip with Guru’s wife, a friend of mine and also a twin. (She has also taught me a lot of dirty Nepali words and is partially responsible for D’s impeccable Nepali dance skills).

Anyway, Guru did what’s known as a “phuknu” treatment to release whatever curse had been on me since someone looked at me while I ate and wished me bad health. Apparently at the time I would have had no idea this was happening. The person might have even said, “Hey Sarah…. tasty?” It was an complex process, but the long and short of it involved Guru sucking the goodness from the air over sacred rice and then releasing it by blowing it back onto me. Then I ate the rice on opposite sides of each hand, after all of which I was finally allowed to have tea, which was, of course, ready and waiting for me.

The most remarkable thing about this experience is that what might seem like an intense, serious, inexplicable Hindu ceremony was really just a morning with friends. Guru’s sons filtered in and out of the kitchen along with the morning sunlight. Jamana (Guru’s wife) asked when Suzie is coming back to visit. Mommy scolded me for letting it go so long without going to the doctor. Guru himself stopped the ritual to ask if I needed the shed unlocked after school for games. Days later, Jamana shouts to me on the path by her house, wondering if I “still have to go to the toilet immediately after eating…” No no, I tell her, and thanks for shouting it, and then continue on my way. And that’s the truth of it; the sacred really is in the every day, in the familiarity, in being taken care of by the people you love. One way or another.

So in short, I’m doing well. I am singing Paul McCartney with my kids in the rain on the way to the bus. I am ringing puja bells at sunrise with Mommy. I am watching village boys play mud football. I am buttoning the school shirt sleeves of tiny souls. I am telling stories and learning as I go. And thinking of you all along the way. Until next time.

--Sar

And the World Spins Madly On

Class 6 Camping

This is Katie's best "I'm pleased with myself" face.

The world's only functioning matriarchy: Class 6A

Chris, just off a 12 day meditation retreat

You decide if we're serious...

Denise Casey

Hey gang. When I first received my placement here in Nepal almost two years ago I had to make sure I knew where it was on the map. I had to read up on the recent civil wars and the then-current turmoil. The JVI Office reassured me that things were safe enough; they were keeping an eye on it while Chris Wall, our Chris, lived through it. He, like the country itself, was no more than letters on a page, ideas in my head… fuzzy ideas at best.

Elections here are scheduled for next week and, this time, will probably be carried out. For the first time in years, there’s real potential for growth, and obviously, quite a risk. But back then, I was packing up my things at IU while hundreds of years of history was culminating in riots on the streets I now call home. And now this country and this person I’ve come to love are moving on, facing change.

About three months ago on a Grammar term exam, I placed a short quote from Les Miserables at the end to see if the kids had any thoughts on it. "Write as much as you can!!!" In short, they didn’t. I learned my lesson. But before the year ended, Abinav of class 5B shuffled up to me before the bell and said, "Miss…. about that quote…" and shoved a scrap of paper into my hand. It had been three months earlier so I was clueless until I read it at break time; it read…

"The spirit is a garden."
"Miss, the spirit is a garden because it never says the same. Birds come, make their nests, lay eggs, and when the eggs hatch, they fly away. During the time they’re here, they pick up flowers, ruin some of the plants and do many kinds of stuff. So Miss, in a soul, sorrow or happiness comes, changes things, and goes away."

Chris changed a lot of things while he was here... the color of the walls in our house, the number of saplings in our yard, the environmental awareness of 46 5th graders, the trajectory of his own life, and the shaping of our experience here. He taught me martial arts and how to speak Nepali. He taught me how to adjust in the beginning and learn to feel the people I could no longer see every day, and how to become whole again after such a loss. Now he’s no longer just letters on a page. He’s Chris… the guy who lost his camera break dancing on his birthday and started drawing the things he didn’t want to forget, the guy who plants mango trees in the winter to his own whistling tune of "You Are My Sunshine." He’s the guy who wore every single article of clothing he had on the plane yesterday because his luggage was over the weight limit. We put our roommate in a taxi and sent him on to the airport, then China, then home. But we said goodbye to more than a roommate… to our "dhai"—our older brother, our bright-eyed revolutionary, our constant gardener.

We'll tread water in his absence for a while, and like the people of Nepal on the brink of enormous change, we'll pray for peace... and some firm footing. I'll keep everyone posted as the next couple of weeks unravel; let's hope for the best for the people of this country. Until next time --Sar

P.S. In case anyone was wondering, the weight limit for luggage on China Air was 20kg, so Chris wore: 2 pairs of socks, boots, 2 pairs of boxers, 3 pairs of pants, 2 t shirts, 2 dress shirts, a suit vest, a peacoat, a rain jacket, and a poofy North Face. He brought an empty laundry bag and stripped on the plane.

Moooooover Over!

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Okay gang, I write to you from an empty school computer lab on this cloudy Wednesday morning. Things are pretty tense here these days, and despite my worry and general discouragement over all of it, I'll save the heavy blog for now. Let's wait and see how things pan out. For now there is practically no diesel in Kathmandu (needs 600 kL per day, is now getting around 60), and very little electricity. Supplies are short, school buses can't run, people are angry, and all of this before the April elections that we assumed would stir up all the trouble. The prognosis, in my humble opinion, is bleak at best, and for now we're just waiting and hoping for some peace, wherever possible.

In the meantime, I thought I'd tell a very quick anecdote that highlights the situation, as it affects us most directly these days. Last week, Chris and I unwisely ignored D's advice to take the school bus into town for our meeting with the town kids. Of course by the time we hauled ourselves outside around 4:30, there were no vehicles... only a few dozen frustrated Nepalis waiting around in the bus park. Naturally we sat down for a cup of tea. While sipping our hot deliciousness, some of the loitering Nepalis starting running down the road (Nepalis don't run). We assumed a bus was coming, and just as we were thinking, "Wow, things really have gotten bad," we heard murmerings of an accident. Sure enough, a daredevil on a motorcycle had struck, brace yourself, a cow.

Both cow and human were saved and so we went back to our tea. About 10 minutes later, a bus did come, and again the Nepalis took off running. But we were faster. We threw 10 rupees at our favorite Chhiya gal and went flying behind the other shops, jumped over a few crates of eggs, and landed safely right at the front door of the van, where we jumped into the front seat, squeezing four where two should go... all to the Nepali remix of "Just Chill" that was blasting from the radio. It was like a music video for the transportation problems of Nepal. Just when we thought our adventure was over, about halfway to town, one of the front tires blew. While we waited for them to change it in the middle of the road, I graded papers and Chris read his book outloud. As usual these days, we were dropped off about 2 km from our destination and had to walk it.

There's a saying in Nepali that translates... "There's always time for tea, and there's always room for one more." Even though everything else in this country seems to be changing, that's still true as ever. Keep us and the people of Nepal in your thoughts. Until next time....

Love Sar