Namaste 2072, Namaste 2073

I wrote this compilation during the final week of the Nepali year of 2072.  2073 began on April 13.  Enjoy.

April 5 2016/Chait 23 2072

My mom came into my room to ask me something, then paused, looked at my trash bin and started fishing through it.  She pulled out an empty plastic jar of vitamins, washed it and put it in the kitchen.

April 6 2016/Chait 24 2072

My mom called my coffee “stinky tea” today.

I made a fly trap.  It caught about 10 flies, but only 3 died.  The other’s managed to escape.  My sister looked at the reused jar of peanut butter filled with sugar water and told me that there were dead flies in it.  “Ya” I said, “that’s the idea”.  She laughed.

Our cat is my new best friend after I started bringing home milk.  If she’s hungry she meows endlessley until I produce a small amount for her.  I told her to go catch a rat instead, but it didn’t work.  She’s pregnant so I am even more generous than normal.

April 7, 2016/Chait 5 2072

I woke up today and went to check on the spring where our water comes from.  We haven’t had piped water for about a week now and I wanted to see if the passage to our pipe had been blocked.  It had.  I moved the rocks and dirt in front of the other pipe and a girl appeared.  I explained that it is selfish and greedy to block the path to our pipe so that their pipe can get more.  I said that we needed to open it so that both places could get water.  She seemed to understand.  I explained it to her dad later too.

One of our FCHVs (Female Community Health Volunteers) is around 40 years old and just had a baby.  She was too shy to come to the health post herself to have the baby checked.  The baby was dirty and hungry.  The FCHV mom was having problems lactating.

I went to another village to check on a mom who had a malnurished baby.  She wasn’t there.  Here kids were though- hanging from hammocks in the one room hut.  One of the kids is maybe 2, the other close to a year now.  I wanted to plant some carrots and green veggies with her, but instead waited for an hour.  The young baby woke up and started crying intermitently.  Wondering if anyone was really listening to it.  It reminded me those babies in orphanages that are kept in cribs all day.  Not only were they abandoned, but they were hungry and hanging from heigths that could kill them.  I asked a neighbor where she went and they said she was washing clothes.  I hoped it was worth it.  They didn’t seem concerned. 

April 8, 2016/Chait 6 2072

Roosters crow at dawn

Coyotes howl at sun set

I hear the earth turn

Wheat cut, harvest, sell

A week worked, a pile of wheat

How much is it worth?

Here is your garden

You hope the seed will sprout, grow

Where does your trust lie?

I made my own food.

You don’t need to cook me bread

Oh, you wanted some?

April 9, 2016/Chait 27 2072

Bananas on the run

This morning I dragged myself out of bed for a run and noticed halfway through that a tea shop I pass by had a bunch of bananas hanging out in front of their shop.  Now, there are two varieties of bananas you can find here in Nepal.  The variety from India which is similar in taste and shape to the ones found in the states, and the local variety which is far superior in taste and much thicker and shorter in shape.  The local variety, when ripe, is so sweet and juicy it’s orgasmic.  I was happy to see that the ones hanging at this shop were plump, large local bananas.  On my way back, I decided to stop at the shop to get a closer look.  There is a general shortage of fresh fruits and vegetable in village, so it’s very exciting to see shops selling them.  

“Where are these from?”  I asked

“Sun Khola”.  He said.

Sun Khola is the name of the river flowing below the shop.  There are banana trees growing around and near the river.  The shop owner pulled down the best looking bunch of the group.

“I don’t have any money on me right now.”  I said.  “Can I pay you tomorrow, or the next day?”

“Sure.  Take them.”  He said

This is a common thing to do here and totally acceptable to have many IOUs going for an indefinite period of time.  The lady I get milk from never asks for money, I just give it when I have it and try to remember how many times I’ve filled my thermous.  

As I was holding the bananas, the little boy standing nearby proudly stated that they were 40 rupees per dozen.  That’s the equivalent of 40 cents.  I was surprised because I’m used to paying 5 rupees per banana for the Indian variety.  The local vaiety is cheeper AND tastier!  I could feel the shop owner cringing a little that the boy had blurted out the cost to me.  I usually pay the local price for things, but sometimes people charge me more because I’m a foreigner.  I think the shop owner would have asked for at least 50 rupees if the boy hadn’t said something.  

The thing was, the bunch I wanted only had 10 bananas and I didn’t want to carry one bunch and two bananas separately.  I was still planning to run the last mile and a half home after all.

“I’ll take these now, then when I come back to give you the money I will take two more, OK?”  I asked.

“Ya, Ok.”

I was off.  Me and my 10 bananas.  I didn’t bother to put the bananas in a bag, I decided to just hold them from the top.  Then people could see I was obviously carrying bananas, which saved them asking “What’s in the bag?”  

As I passed by a friend’s house the old lady standing out front noticed I was running with a bunch of bananas and pointed it out to her friend.  I raised the bananas and smiled.  I could hear them thinking “Oh, that silly American, what will she do next?”  I suppose not much I can do now would surprise them at this point.  Maybe they think all Americans run holding bananas for snacks.

As I was climbing the hill near my house I heard a rustling in the trees.  Looking up, I noticed the local clan of rhesus monkeys jumping around the trees.  Sometimes I encounter them, but I had a strange feeling that they were watching my bananas.  Not wanting to find out what hungry monkeys will do to steal bananas, I picked up the pase.  

Home at last, I admit I was happy that no one was home at the time.  I would have felt obligated to share my batch of bananas if they were.  Sharing food is a Nepali practice I never got very good at.  It’s 7:45pm now and I have eaten 3 of them.  Perhaps I will share the others.  Hmmm…what would the monkeys do?

I was happy to have the bananas while eating my breakfast not only because I happened to have bread and honey to go with them, but because while I as I was eating my concoction of a bowl of boiled egg, yesterdays cooked cabbage and potatoes, and yogurt I happened to notice something I hoped wasn’t what I thought it was.  Looking closer, the eyeballs staring back at me verified what my stomach hoped it wasn’t…a fly.  Yes, a housefly in my food.  I wondered how many times I had been served and eaten bugs here and not known about it.  Not wanting to throw out the forkful of food I had already raised, I ate that bite and decided to trash the rest.  I’m sure that last bite only had a tiny bit of fly juice, if any.  

In the afternoon I didn’t eat lunch because my stomach hurt and I was feeling nauseous.  My family said that my stomach hurt because I cooked my own food yesterday.  I told them it was because of the fly I found in my breakfast.  I’m not going to tell them the real reason which is that I’m starting my period and the extra hot weather today made me dizzy and sick.  I don’t think I’ll tell them at all this month.  The day after tomorrow I’ll be leaving home for a few days and don’t feel like playing the menstruation game this month.  If they ask, I can just tell them it came while I was away.  The river of sin flowing out of my vagina will just have to go un announced for now.  And that’s the way it goes.  Viva la revolution!

April 10, 2016/Chait 28, 2072

How to dig a hole 

I have somehow volunteered to lead the building of two water collection ponds at a local school.  The project needs to be done as the waste water is running under a concrete wall that will eventually collapse.  The water will also be used to water the garden. I have no experience with such a project, but I’ve learned that doesn’t mean I can’t do it!  It’s all about finding the right people to help, doing research, and breaking the process up into small steps.  

“I can get you money in 4 days.”  The principal told me.

“Ok, well should I wait 4 days before buying supplies then?”  I asked

“Well, you can buy the supplies yourself now, then in 10 or 12 days I can get you the money.” 

“Hmmmm.”  The fact that he changed the time from 4 to 10 days didn’t help my confidence with getting paid back for buying supplies.

“I am a little nervous about spending money because maybe you won’t be able to pay me back.  How much money is available in the budget for this project?”  I asked.

“How much do you need?”

“$200?” I said

“200?!  Well, it’s for building two water collection ponds.  If that’s what you need.”

“Ok then.  I will only buy the supplies we need for digging the hole now, then when the money comes I can buy the rest of the supplies.”  I said.

He agreed and I gave him a tour of the garden I made at our house.  I hope I can end up just as proud of the ponds as I am of the garden at my house.  It’s amazing how many things I do here that start with diggging holes. 

Thoughts of home

For some reason, in the last week, I feel like when I allow my mind to be quiet and clear, I can picture home clearly.  It’s as if I can imagine myself at home when I get back and what I would be doing.  Going to a movie, going to work, cooking food.  Would I still be able to just be lazy whenever I want?  If it’s hot in the middle of the day, can I lie in bed for 3 hours?

The clarity of the image of me being home brings me happiness, but imagining the day I leave here brings me sadness.  I only have 6 months left and I want to make sure I do all the things I wanted to do.  No regrets.  Tik tock.

April 11, 2016/Chait 29 2072

I went into the ATM today and had a flashback (flashforward?) of being in America.  

April 12, 2016/Chait 30 2072 (NEPALI NEW YEARS EVE)

Approaching the Edge of the Begining

I spent the last day of 2072 in the Terai region of Nepal which is the southern most, hot, flat region of the country that boarders India.  On my request for an adventure, two girls ages 11 and 14 led me on a walk that ended at a river.  It was 4:30pm in the afternoon and the intense 100 degree heat of the day was starting to subside making it possible for an outing.

“Can you cross the river, sister?”  They asked me.

I looked at the river in the distance.  While during monsoon season it gets very wide, it was currently narrow enough to cross.

“I can swim across rivers, yes.”  For some reason my swimming ability is a big source of pride for me.  But while I was boasting about my aquatic abilities I realized that they meant walking across, not swimming across the river.

As we approached the water, the sight of gently sloping sand dunes and the feel of the gentle breeze made me nostalgic for home.  The girls ran to the water and I sat in the sand, removing my shoes and letting the sand play with the spaces between my toes.  I closed my eyes and was transported to the coast of Southern California.  The sound of seagulls was replaced with the sound of crows, and the scattered bones in the distance were of desceased water buffalo and not seals, but the fusion fo the two worlds made me feel like I was in some sort of intermediate dimension between home, and the home of my heart.  

The girls were by the water scooping up sand and examining the tiny bits of life inhabiting the space.  

“I caught a fish!  I caught a fish!”  They shouted, and ran to me to show me the tiny fish swimming around in their hands no bigger than a grain of rice.  

“That’s really neat” I said.  I remembered how I used to collect sea shells when I was their age and run to show my grandmother in the same way.

“Do they have fish were you live?”  They asked.

“Yes, they do.  My home is actually a lot like this.  I live by the ocean and people sometimes fish in the ocean.”  

“Wow.”  They said.  Then ran back to collect more handfuls of treasure.   Listening to them play was entertaining.  One girl would find a new piece of treasure and do something silly with it and the other would tell her 

“You’re just like a monkey, no?  Just like a monkey!”

Later, they showed me how to make “sand bowls” by pouring water over the sand and gently digging out the wet sand.  I showed them how to make drip castles. 

As the sun started dipping below the horizon, a gentle orange, pink glow of light was cast along the river and fields of grass.  The farmers began hearding their water buffalo, cows and goats back home and the women in the fields began collecting the fodder they had been cutting for their animals.  We gathered up our sandals and started heading home.  

There are times in Nepal when I imagine that I could live here forever and be perfectly happy.   I have learned that living in harmony with the earth and physically feeling a connection to the soil, plants, animals and souls of the people is more fulfilling than any paycheck or material posession.  I am sometimes hesitant to open up to others as it can be exhausting, but when I do I find new level of appreciation for the kindess, customs and culture of the Nepali people.  Here I sometimes feel a stronger sense of belonging than I did among the crowds and streets of LA.  In LA no one looks at each other in public.  Here, the simple greeting of “Namaste” to a stranger is meant to acknowledge and honor the soul, and spirit of the other person while in turn offering your own.  Saying it is both humbling and nurishing.  It is said when you meet someone, as well as when you say goodbye.

On this last day of 2072, I say “Namaste” to the people and events of this year.  Through earthquakes, festivals, weddings and handfulls of soil we have grown and changed together.  You have fed my soul and I have offered mine. 

And finally, to 2073, my family and friends, I offer the words of an Old Irish Blessing…

May there always be work for your hands to do.

May your purse always hold a coin or two.

May the sun always shine on your windowpane.

May a rainbow be certain to follow each rain.

May the hand of a friend always be near you.

May God fill your heart with gladness to cheer you.

“Namaste”

Welcome Letter to Incoming Volunteers

Below is the letter I sent to the new incoming group of Peace Corps Volunteers.  They will be arriving in April and we were invited to send them welcome letters.  This letter was posted to the Peace Corps Website.

__________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Dear Peace Corps Nepal Group 203,

February 27, 2016… “The 45 minute cup of coffee”

I woke up this morning to my alarm while it was still dark outside.  I think it is the first time I have set an alarm this whole past year.  What, you ask was my reason for setting it today?  Well, today is Saturday and for the past few months I have been teaching English to grade school students.  I had not prepared a lesson plan ahead of time, so I wanted to get up early to have time to make one.  I slowly got out of bed, had a drink of water, used the outside bathroom, then came back to my room and opened my Nepali/English language book.  What hadn’t I covered?  Hmmmm…I decided to talk about the world map.

As I was moving about, I contemplated asking my Nepali mom if there was enough milk for me to make my morning latte.  Lately, our cow has been giving only a small amount of milk which has only been enough for morning tea.  I love making fresh coffee with my french press and it’s even better when I add hot foamy milk.  Then I heard my mom tell my sister that she was going to another village that morning to help them with some work.  She told my sister, who was still in bed, to make tea.  This was my chance!  I decided to wait until my mom left, then check to see if there was enough milk in the container to make my latte.  There was!  I poured out just enough for me, but made sure to leave some left in the container.  I figured the same family milk usage rules applied here as they did in America;  leave enough for someone else.  

Returning to my room with the special ingredient, I added hot water to my water heater and plugged it in.  This is the third water heater I’ve purchased and although it’s of good quality, it doesn’t like to stay plugged in.  The only way I can get it to work is to duct tape the plug to the outlet.  Each time I use it requires new taping.  After about 10 minutes and about 4 adjustments to the duct tape I had hot water, which I poured into my french press with the coffee grounds.  I now buy coffee at Himalayan Java in Kathmandu.  It’s about $10.50 for a pound and I grind it at my site so it’s fresh.  I save time by grinding what I’ll use for the week and put it in a glass jar.  By the way, all used containers are reused here.  My family is currently using the glass natural peanut butter jar I brought from America to keep their ghee.  The Trader Joe’s peanut butter cup container holds spices and my sister currently has claim on the small candle container in my room when the wax burns out.  Whenever I bring my trash out to burn, at least a few items get snatched up by my family, cleaned and repurposed.  It’s pretty cool and makes me realize how much gets wasted in the US.  

When the coffee was done, I poured it into my thermos and started heating the milk.  I’ve learned to watch milk closely now after having it boil over multiple times onto my carpet.  The carpet would smell really bad and I would cut out the stained parts.  Then, eventually I had to throw it all out.  When the milk was ready, I poured it into my french press and pumped the pressing device up and down really fast for about 30 seconds.  If you haven’t tried this before, I highly recommend it as a way to make fancy cafe style frothy milk!  Then, I poured it slowly into the thermos with the coffee.

As I was making the frothy milk, my sister came over, sipping her tea.  She smiled at me and my excitement for the activity at hand.  When I wake up in the morning and smell my ground coffee I literally shudder with bliss as my mind is flooded with memories of coffee shops in the US, the friends I met, and the deep conversations we shared.  I instantly get transported back home for that brief moment.  

I imagine that 5 years from now, smelling Nepali tea will make me feel the same way.   When that day comes, I will remember my home here in the Far West and the hundreds of people I have shared tea with.  I will remember talking about my home in the US and how I strangely don’t miss washing machines and driving a car every day.  I’ll remember the way rice fields move in the wind like ripples on the ocean.  The way a baby goat tilts its head and bounces forward, randomly flailing it’s legs spastically as if it had ants in it’s pants.  The sound of vegetables hitting the pan and sizzling, signaling that dinner is about an hour away.  How amazing sitting in a large cooking pot of warm water can feel on cold winter day while taking a “bath”.  So many memories, I don’t know which will be my favorite 5 years from now, or which will visit me in my dreams.

So congratulations on your decision to embark on this journey and here’s to the many memories you will make yourselves.  Nepal is a beautiful country with a surprisingly diverse culture.  Enjoy and embrace the mindfulness that comes with simple things like taking 45 minutes to make your morning coffee, or one to two hours to wash your clothes.  It’s during those times that your mind is free.

I was once told that the one thing that a rich man and a poor man have in common is time.  Being in the Peace Corps gives you control over your own time, which is a blessing and privilege.  How will you use yours?

Sincerely,

Sarah Anderson

If you want to read my blog you can visit it it at:  allforoneandonefornepal.blogspot.com

The blog is mostly about my first 8 months in Nepal, but I plan to write more content soon.

Supply recommendations:  

1)  Plastic blow up globe ball-  Serves both as a lesson on geography, and a ball to play four square with.  A very popular play item in my village. 

2)  Duct tape.  So many uses…and I haven’t found it sold here.

3)  Good vacuum insulated thermos-  Mine is a “Hydro Flask” and is very durable

4)  French Press (smallest one available)-  If you like drinking fancy coffee, it’s worth it!

Fun with Fungus: Mushroom Cultivation in Alital, Nepal

A little over a year ago when I started the Peace Corps I had certain things in mind that I saw myself doing.  Teaching people about nutrition was one of the biggest things, along with educating about basic gardening and building the occasional smokeless cookstove.  However, that skill set has vastly grown since moving here and now the two main projects I’m focusing on are growing oyster mushrooms and fruit tree production.  

Back in August, I wrote a grant for the oyster mushroom project.  Growing mushrooms is something that many INGOs and NGOs here teach about because it’s a good income development project, and adds to the nutritional diversity of the community.  I was awarded the grant which paid for 16 groups of women to receive mycelium (mushroom seed) as well as training on how to grow them.  The first time, I distributed seed in November, the second time was this month.  The grant required a 25% community contribution, so the members of the communities used their own straw and wood.  There was also a requirement that the mushrooms be placed within their own homes as the grant did not cover building a special dark house in which to store the mushroom bags.  

For the trainings, I invited the plant protection officer at the District Agriculture Office to come speak to the women’s groups.  Each group had 5-8 members, so I was expecting a big crowd.  I arranged for a place to meet that could hold the big crowd, snacks, and called all the groups to make sure they were coming.  Then, the day before the meeting, I received a call that sent me into panic mode;  the trainer could not make it.  I suppressed my frustration over the phone as he apologized for not being able to come.

“Anjali”.  He said.  “I am sorry.  Please do not be angry.  I am sorry.”  

“It’s ok”  I said.  “It’s not your fault.”

I tried to be understanding, but inside I was frantically trying to come up with a solution.  Should I call the whole training off and schedule a different day?  It was the first scheduled event for this mushroom project and the date had already been pushed back a few times.  If I rescheduled again, the women might not take me seriously and become less committed themselves.  After consulting my counterpart, I decided to spend the day looking for another trainer and keep the training as planned.  Luckily, I had downloaded onto my computer the powerpoint that he was going to use for the training.  My community also located another staff member of the District Agriculture Office who lived in my village and happened to be home.  I invited her to meet me that night and we arranged to have her fill in the next day.

I was happy when she arrived at 9am as scheduled, ready to go.  I had told the women’s groups to arrive at 10 am.  At 10:30am no one had arrived yet.  

“Anjali.”  My friend said who owns a Hotel across the street.  “What time did you tell everyone to get here?”

“10 am”

“And how many people did you buy snacks for today?”

“100”

She laughed.  “You aren’t going to have 100 people come.  People are busy.  There’s no way that many people will come.”

“Well”  I said “Either everyone is coming on ‘Nepali time’ and will be 3 hours late, or I will throw a samosa party for everyone in the bazaar today.”

She laughed again.  I acted confident, but I was actually about as skeptical as she was that I would have much of a showing.  Maybe I would get at least a few groups to show up?  Then, around 11:15 am the first group arrived.  Then another.  Then another who said that there was more people on the way.  When there got to be around 50 people, I started feeling better about the whole thing and started showing a video to the people who arrived on time. 

By 1pm, each one of the 16 groups had arrived.  Some traveled 5 hours by foot to be there that day.  It was the first time I had arranged an event like this and seeing everyone there that day made me feel like it wasn’t just me who wanted this for the community.  They were genuinely interested.  Many aid groups pay people to come to trainings.  I was not doing that, and they still came.  I was impressed.

I was also impressed by the trainer that day.  She had a great speaking voice and went over the whole power point presentation.  There were times when the group would get loud, and she would shout at them to pay attention because there was lots of information and the more time spent wasted on getting people’s attention, the longer we would be there.  They quieted down, and things moved along.  We were there until about 4pm and covered all the important material.

One month later, I brought back to my village 236 bags of mushroom seed from Kathmandu on the bus.  It was a 3 day trip and each day I had to transfer the seed from the bus, to my hotel, to a different bus in the morning.  In the end, I was happy to be home and all of the 16 groups returned again for the practical training.  We demonstrated how to cut the rice straw, wash it, steam it, then add it to the bags while layering in the mushroom mycelium.  Everyone was very helpful and the bags we made that day were stored at the Health Post as an example colony.  

At the end of the day I passed out supplies to each group.  Each group received 21 bags of mushroom seed which, after planting would make roughly 42 bags of mushrooms.  I gave out other supplies as well which lead to a little bit of a frenzy as each group wanted to make sure they were getting their fair share of things.  Plastic tarps, rope, knives, and sacs were all being grabbed at and claimed.  

“I didn’t get any plastic!”  One group would yell out.  

“Do you have any more of this rope?”  Another would ask at the same time.

I was pretty exhausted by the end of the day, but also proud and pleased with everyone’s hard work.  It would be a month before the mushrooms would start growing and we would know if that hard work had paid off.

By the end of the first round of production, the Health Post had produced around 32 kgs of mushrooms.  We sold around 22 kgs and consumed 10 kgs among the staff.  The highest producing mother’s group grew 21 kgs of mushrooms and the lowest about 2 kgs.  Overall, the project was successful in that all groups learned a new skill that they can use in the future to both increase their income and nutrition.  

We are now at the beginning the second round of cultivation.  Ten of the 16 groups used their own funds to purchase seed for this round of cultivation.  I passed out seed last week and so far all the bags made at the Health Post are growing well!  It feels great to pass on such a beneficial skill an I’m very proud of the community.  In the words of one of my counterparts:

“Alital is known for it’s quality refined butter and honey production…Now we can be known for our mushroom production as well!”

A brief overview of how Oyster mushrooms are grown in Nepal:

Rinsing

First, cut rice straw into 2 inch pieces and rinse it at least twice.  

Steaming

Filling a large iron drum with rocks and a small amount of water.  Heat the water to boiling, then add the straw on top.  Cover the drum with a sack and plastic so that steam cannot escape.  After 50 minutes, remove the straw and place it on a plastic tarp to cool.  

Bag Making 

Add one layer of straw about 2 inches thick to the mushroom bag, then add a small layer of mushroom mycelium around the border of the bag, about 1 inch in from the plastic.  Keep layering mushroom seed, then straw until the bag is full.  Poke holes in the plastic for ventilation.  Press down firmly on the straw to compress it into a tightly compacted bag.  Tie the bag and place it in a dark room between 20-30 degrees celcius.  

Mushroom Growth

When the mycelium has filled the bag and it is almost completely white, remove the plastic.  Mushrooms will start growing from the bags.  It is important to have good ventilation within the room, as well as some light.  The colony should be watered 2 times daily to maintain humidity.  It takes about 4 weeks from the time the colony is made to the time the mushrooms are ready to harvest.

Harvest

Cut the mushrooms from the bag.  Depending on the quality of mycelium and conditions within the room, each bag can grow mushrooms up to 4 times.

When life gives you lemons…make lemonaide!  Lately, the political situation in Nepal has been a bit rocky leading into and following the signing of their new constitution.  India is the only country who is unhappy about the constitution, partly because Nepal won’t allow foreign born people who become Nepali citizens to become Prime Minister.  As a result, India is closing it’s border to us.  This has decreased the availability of petroleum products, cooking gas, and essential basic commodities.  Lemons.

There continues to be a bandh (travel restriction) close to the border of India due to disagreements regarding the constitution.  This means I can’t travel to a large town called Dhangadhi where I usually go every month to use the ATM and go shopping.  Lemons.

I recently got word that a large grant I applied for was approved!  The money will go towards distributing mushroom mycelium to 16 groups of women who will each grow 50 bags of mushrooms in a dark room in their village.  It is an income generation project that will also add to the nutritional value of their diet.  Now that the grant is approved, I need to start purchasing large quantities of materials for the project to distribute to the groups.  Unfortunately, the easiest, best place to find those materials is where?  Dhangadhi!  I’m not sure when I will be able to start traveling there again.  Lemons.

While Nepal has been metaphorically handing me and other Nepalis lemons, the past month it has also been physically handing them chook, which is a local fruit that tastes like a hybrid of a lemon and a grapefruit.  I watched my mom collect baskets full of chook and wondered what she planned to do with it.  Before she used them all up, I decided to use a few of them for a little experiment.  I decided to make lemon jam.  

Lemon jam doesn’t even really exist in the states so I’m not sure why I thought that it would taste good.  I guess I just wanted a challenge. Orange marmalade maybe, but lemons can be tricky.  Looking for guidance, I refered to the source where I always go in times of culinary puzzlement…the “Himalayan Cookbook”.  The “Himalayan Cookbook” is a recipe book that various volunteers have contributed to since the 1960’s.  In it, I found a recipe for “citrus jam”, so I had hope that it would work.  

I was particularly interested in making jam because I had recently finished a 40oz jar of Laura Scudder’s Natural Peanut Butter from the US and had a great empty glass jar that my family has been waiting to repurpose for some time.  I washed out the jar that morning and announced that I would be making chook jam that night.  They all had tried jam that I brought from the states and were on board with the project.  The only thing I needed from them was sugar.

That afternoon, I mentioned to the ladies at the Health Post that I was planning to make chook jam.  Two of them were curious and accepted my invitation to come observe the process.  When I got home, it was game time.  I reminded my younger sister Neera that I wanted to make jam, and she sent my younger brother Yogendra to the store for sugar.  My friends and I peeled the chook and separated the peel.  While peeling and chopping, my friend Jamuna took some of the fruit and mixed it with sugar, salt and chilli.  This is how chook is usually eaten.  It was a strange taste at first, but actually very tasty with a good amplitude of flavor (salty, sweet, spicy, sour).  

By this time my brother had returned with a huge 5kg bag of sugar.  The directions said to boil the peel three times in water, replacing the water every time, so my brother and I did that.  My brother Yogendra is 14 years old and is the most enthusiastic sibling I have when it comes to wierd American experimentation projects, especially when it involves food.  With every project I decide to dedicate time to around the house…from planting vegetables, to cutting bamboo, to making cake, he’s there.  He has also recently been coming to me a lot for help with English, which is cool.

So there we were, boiling and draining lemon peel while my two other friends looked at us a little funny wondering why three times was necessary.  Then we added the peel to the fruit, mixed it together and boiled again.  This time for 40 minutes.  Now, 40 minutes was a long time to wait, so we sat down to eat dinner.  As I sat, eating my food, I stared off into the night and wondered if the jam was really going to be tasty, or not.  As an optomist who likes a challenge, I imagined it being something like really sweet lemonaide in jam form.  

Then it was time to add the sugar.  The recipe said to measure the fruit mixture and add an equal amount of sugar.  By that time, the fruit mixture had amounted to about 6 cups of fruit.  I looked at the fruit, then at the sugar, then at my sister Neera.  Neera is a strong young lady and the oldest sibling.  She has lately been cooking all our meals and is the one I give my rent money to every month because she is educated and good with money.  I was a little anxious of using 6 cups of sugar for a failed experiment, but I knew from past failures around the house that they never get mad about it.  I decided to add about 4 cups of sugar.  I could always add more if that wasnsn’t enough.  

As the jam continued boiling, we had 25 minutes of time to fill so I opened up my laptop and played Despicable Me 2.  Cartoons with lots of slapstick humor and fart jokes are pretty universally understood by people woldwide.  It doesn’t take a degree in English to appreciate that sort of humor, so it was a success. 

Then I returned to the jam.  By this time it was a turning a nice amber color so I took it off the stove and reached for my first taste.  It was not good.  Dang.  Maybe another taste…nope.  So bitter!  My brother tasted it… “Teeto chha!” He said.  “It’s bitter!”  Oh great.  What to do now.  It was the peel that ruined it I think.  That’s something even sugar couldn’t help I was afraid.  My brother was laughing. 

“Chook ko jam…dherai mito chha!” / “Lemon jam…very tasty!” He said.

When my family says stuff like they aren’t trying to convince me that they really like it.  They go right to sarcastically joking about it.  It’s pretty awesome.  

My brother decided that we should bring some to my sister and friends in a little bowl, say that it is suuuuuuper tasty and tell them they have to eat the whole thing.  So we did.  My sister held the bowl in her hand and looked at us trying to judge whether or not our enthusiasm towards watching her eat it had any mischief behind it.  She tasted it.  

Her face immediately changed into discuss and my brother and I laughed and repeated “chook ko jam…dherai mito chha!”  

We later joked that we should sell it in the bazaar.  Five dollars per kilo.  My brother added that people can only taste it after they buy it though.  Good thinking.

I told my sister that I could pay her back for the sugar that I used since it was such a huge failure.  

“No”, she said “It’s ok.  It was funny.  We had some good laughs.”

That was four nights ago.  Attempting to redem myself, last night I announced that I would like to make dinner once a month.  I added that it wouldn’t be like the chook ko jam, it would be something tastier that I know how to cook.  It was quiet for awhile, then they all agreed that that sounded like a fun plan.

The moral of this story is that sometimes life gives you lemons.  And sometimes the only way to deal with it is to try to make lemonaide.  But even if the lemonaide doesn’t come out right, even if you can’t change the way India reacts to the constution, or the problems with Nepali transportation, if you are surrounded by a group of friends who laugh it off, hand you more sugar and say “lets do it again”, then you are truly blessed.  It’s not always about the result, but the journey.

Next time I’m making fried chicken…everyone loves that, right?

My sister holding the jar of chook jam.  We found one person who likes it and doesn't want me to waste it.

After making the jam, my family juiced the lemon/grapefruit "chook" for later use in cooking fish, vegetables, etc.

Street Games

I would like to share my friend's blog before my post today.  He wrote a little about the history of Nepal and the political situation we find ourselves in now.  After one week of waiting in Katmandu, I am being sent back to my home in the Far West as there is a little window of time we can travel before the roads are blocked due to strikes.  There are about 8 volunteers currently in Katmandu who can't return to their sites because of these strikes.

http://beninthepeacecorps.blogspot.com/2015/08/nepali-political-abcs-assemblies-bandhs.html

And now for todays topic:

Katmandu Street Games (i.e. Street Scams)

After living in a Nepali village for almost one year I have become accustomed to being approached by friendly strangers interested in hearing about my life, and wanting to share about theirs.  I am usually happy to share my story with them and we sometimes develop lasting friendships.  

While staying one week in Katmandu, strangers on the street who approached me usually had different intentions, often involving wanting money.  Sometimes it was hard to tell if they just wanted to interact, or if they were expecting something more.  After whitnessing many such instances, I decided to compile a little list of some of these “street games” played by locals.

1. I was approached by two children on the street carrying a sheet of paper in a page protector with a story written in English about how they were locals whose families were affected by the earthquake and needed money for food.  They did look a little dirty, perhaps from sleeping in tents, perhaps from being poor.  I decided to buy them snacks.
2. At Pashupatinath Temple (monkey temple) there was a group of 5 kids that noticed me and started engaging in conversation.  They definitely weren’t wearing nice clothing, but seemed to be educated and were excited by the fact that I spoke Nepali.  One of the girls handed me the head from a figurine that she found on the ground.  She told me which Hindu god it was and handed it to me as a gift.  I sort of had a feeling in the back of my head that at some point they would ask for money, but I didn’t want to leave them just yet.  After taking some pictures I asked where their parents were.  They pointed to an area about 100m away.  I asked if they were sleeping inside after the earthquake, or if they were forced to sleep on the streets.  They said they were living in their house.  As I was getting ready to say goodbye the girl who gave me the Hindu god head gave me a sad look and asked if I could spare some money.  First, I told them they should ask their parents for money.  I knew that they weren’t hurting terribly for money, but that this was more of a hobby for them.  Showing tourists around and asking for small change.  I decided to give them a little change and they ran happily away.  Later, I saw them walking with their parents who were very well dressed.  I smiled to myself.
   
3. A friend of mine was approached by a man on the street who introduced himself as being from India.  He was very enthusiastic when she said she was an American.  They made small talk and the man told her that he works for a magazine that features people’s stories from their travels, news in the local area, etc.  He was interested in interviewing her and featuring her in the magazine.  He had a camera and asked to take her picture.  She informed the gentleman that she was not able to do interviews without first consulting Peace Corps.  He was a little disapointed, but offered to sell her the magazine.  It was 400NPR which equates to about 4 US dollars.  I thought it was interesting to play on a person’s ego and desire to be featured, or “made famous” in order to sell a product.  She might have actually been featured in the magazine had she agreed to be interviewed, but my scepticism has doubts about that.
4. I have been approached by people on the street dressed as Sadhus (Hindu priests), who offer to give Tikka to passerbys.  The priest is always dressed in an orange, priest like costume to help his credibility.  If the person agrees to receiving the Tikka, the priest puts a spot of red on the forhead of the person and offers a small flower.  I have had friends agree to receieving Tikka as its something our Nepali families often gave us at home.  However, the priests on the street expect an offering in exchange for the Tikka.  Similar games are played by religious figures such as Buddhist monks in New York who offer small tokens such as a flower, or other offering in exchange for money.  It is a strange dynamic as the receiver doesn’t want to be rude and refuse the “gift”, but as soon as they accept it they are guilted into giving money.  I have no problem with giving money in exchange for a good, or service, but I want to know before receiving the good, or service what the expectation is of me.  Does that make me cold?  I just want to know what I’m getting into really.
5. The last observation I made was of a middle aged lady who approached me with a young child and an empty baby bottle.  She explained in English that her baby was hungry and she had no more milk.  The child was walking and looked a little old to be breast feeding, but I asked her in Nepali why she couldn’t give him her own milk.  She looked surprised not only from my answer, but the fact that I was speaking in Nepali.  The conversation didn’t go very far after that and she left pretty quickly.

It doesn’t bother me so much that people are asking for support and I hope that this blog doesn’t leave you thinking that I don’t think that these people are in legitimate need of help.  However, the manner in which they ask for it is sometimes facinating and humorsome to me.  I also don’t like the feeling that I’m consistently targeted and profiled as a big money pit.  At what point do conversations with new found friends go from simply wanting to get to know someone and interact, to asking for something?  It’s hard to know.  I still like playing the game though :)

Language

Language is a funny thing.  A fun thing.  When two people who both speak the same two languages come into contact, it’s sometimes a process to determine which language should be primarily spoken.  

Take Nepali and English for example.

I am a native English speaker and also speak Nepali.  I have many Nepali friends whose first language is Nepali, but have also learned English.  Usually, in my village I prefer to speak in Nepali even if the person I am speaking to can speak English.  This helps ME learn Nepali and be effective in my work here in Nepal, but perhaps starves them of the opportunity to learn English.  I often have people say “I’ll teach you Nepali and you can teach me English”, but unfortunately that doesn’t hasn’t happened too much.  There are some people who have shown repeated interest in learning English and I try to make time to correct their English and speak with them specifically in English.  One of my closest friends at my site speaks English very well but I had to tell her not to speak it so much with me because my Nepali was suffering.  She is amazingly patient with my broken Nepali and if I’m lucky she will correct me every once in a while.

Usually, each party tries to respect each other by attempting to speak the other person’s native language.  For example, in Katmandu most people assume that if you don’t look Nepali that you are a foreigner and if they know any English they will speak to you in English.  It often comes as a surprise to them if foregners speak Nepali as it is not a common foreign language to learn.  As a volunteer, it’s always an ego booster to come to Katmandu and speak Nepali with people on the street because they are always impressed, happy and there are sometimes rewards.

For example, it helps with barganing.  Street vendors in Nepal will usually categorize you into one of three groups.  They charge each group differently:

Street Vendor Pricing Groups                                                   Street Vendor Thoughts
1. Disabled Nepali-                                    You need my help, here's some fruit

2. Native local Nepali/Friend-                   You're cool (Cheapest Price)

3. Nepali but not local-                              You're still cool, but I don't know you (Getting more pricey)

4. Foreigner who speaks Nepali well and is living in Nepal-     Ooooo.  You're different.  Where are you from and why on earth are you living here?  (Decent price, sometimes equal to a Nepali)

5. Foreigner who attempts to speak Nepali-    Awww.  That's so cute.  (Discount for your baby Nepali language skills

6. Foreigner who makes no attempt to converse, or speak Nepali-    You are wearing tourist clothes so that means you have money.  Cough it up.  (Most Expensive)

After the initial check of who speaks which language best, it can sometimes become a competition of who can speak their non native tongue better.  The winner is sometimes the most stubborn and the competition goes on as long as both people are speaking in their non native tongue.  The looser is the first one to give up and start speaking their native language as it is more comfortable and less challenging for them.  Sometimes people even encourage you to back down and stop trying to speak your non native tongue.  I’ve had people say “don’t worry, just speak in English.”  Or, “really, it would be easier for me if you would just speak in English”.  

The break down is like this:

        

Situation	Person A (Native Nepali Speaker)	Person B (Native English Speaker)	Language Spoken
Professional Environment such as Hospital, Hotel, Spa or Restaurant where English speaker is a guest	Ok English	No Nepali Ok Nepali	-English is spoken as a form of respect to the client. -If the English speaker initiates Nepali, Nepali is spoken.
	Great English	Ok Nepali	If it is a Nepali man and an English woman, usually English is spoken.  This is out of respect, but as a woman it can feel frustrating because it feels like the man automatically assumes you can’t speak their language, or doesn’t care to see you try.  If it is a Nepali woman speaking to an English woman she will sometimes let the woman speak Nepali and speak back, but she will think it is funny.
	No English	Ok or Great Nepali	Fun!  The English person gets to practice their Nepali skills and the Nepali person is facinated by their attempt

To some degree I would imagine this would be the same in all foreign countries.  Usually when someone is not from the land they are visiting, they are given the opportunity to speak the local language to the degree that they make an effort.  

In less formal environments where there is not a customer/client relationship such as in a village there is less expectations of what language is supposed to be spoken.  If one person wants to practice their non native tongue, they usually have to make it known to all who they encounter that they are making the effort to speak the second language and people usually repond by with a subtle smile, and look the other direction, or will engage with you and have fun doing so.  Usually those who engage with you are brave individuals, or well known friends who have made the deision to try to shape the tongue of the silly foreigner who chose to live in their village.

As a woman living in Nepal, I can say that it’s sometimes stressful to be in environments like bus parks where there are many people, usually men, who are asking if you need help/want a taxi/need a hotel/etc.  Any sort of transit like this worldwide I’m sure is just as nerve racking.  I have girlfriends here who only speak English in these situations in order to not attract attention.  As soon as men know that you speak their native language, suddenly the “game” is on and they have fun trying to see how much Nepali you can speak.  Usually they are curious as to what your motive was to learn “their” language.  I’m not sure how it is for men volunteers here.  

Overall, I have enjoyed the process of learning Nepali and then learning a new native tongue at my site.  It’s been keeping my mind active constantly.  However, I’ve always been a bit of a “lazy talker” even in the states and will often use the shortest way possible of explaining something.  That carries into my Nepali language and I’ll usually use the shortest sentances possible to get my point across as long as it’s effective.  Facial cues, energetic output, and body language go a long way in commuinication!  I do my best with my words though and have definitely come out of my shell in regards to seeing the value in just sitting down with friends, sharing tea, and talking.

On the Earthquake, Being Sent Home, and Returning

Earthquake

Durbar Square, Katmandu...1 week after the quake

When I think back on the moment when everything changed, I’m brought back to my room in Nepal. 

I have been home in the United States one week now and the feeling of being adrift in a sort of alternate reality is starting to fade.  Slowly, my life here now is becoming the reality, and my life in Nepal is becoming more of a memory.  At least now I know I am returning to Nepal.  Knowing that helps me to relax and really enjoy the time I’m given at home.  

When I think back on the moment when everything changed, I’m brought back to my village in Far West Nepal.  I had been at my site for five months and that Saturday morning I was relaxing after bathing and washing my clothes in the river.  As the day approached noon, it started to heat up and I decided to lie in my room for a little bit, read my book, and surrender to the laziness of the warm Saturday afternoon.  As I read my book I noticed a slight rocking movement.  I had recently been thinking about earthquakes because they had mentioned in our first week that Nepal was overdue for a big quake and that we should be prepared should one happen.  There were moments when I would randomly think to myself,

 “What would I do if there was an earthquake right now?  Where would I go?”

But nothing ever happened.  I figured that the movement I was feeling was probably another of my imagined thoughts about earthquakes.  But it didn’t stop.  My second thought was that it was my heart beat subtly moving my body back and forth.  But it didn’t stop.  Luckily for me and the people in the Far West, it never got as big as it did in the eastern part of Nepal.  After looking at some flowers hanging above my bed and seeing them rock every so slightly back and forth I stood up, went outside and asked my Nepali mother 

“I think there was just an earthquake.  Land…moving?  Earthquake?  Earthquake?”

I was saying the Nepali word for earthquake, but my village speaks a mixture of Nepali and Doteli so my mother didn’t know the Nepali word.  She looked at me like I was a little crazy so I figured I was and walked back into my room.

It wasn’t until seeing the facebook posts that people were putting up that I realized it was, in fact an earthquake.  What I didn’t know at the time was how severe the damage was, how internationally known it was, and how my lives in Nepal would be affected even though most people in my village didn’t feel it.  

Peace Corps Washington eventually decided to put us volunteers in Nepal on “administrative hold”.  We were flown to Thailand for a brief transitional conference, then sent home for what ended up being a total of 7 weeks.  I spent one week in Thailand with friends before flying home.

My village grandmother...love her!

The day of the quake my friends and I decided to cook smores

 (Fast forward 1 1/2 months)

My time at home was filled with spending time with friends and family which was a nice silver lining to the tragic events prior.  I arrived home the day before my birthday, and my family gave me a warm welcome that included getting my nails done, going to a movie, and having a pizza dinner.  It was perfect!  Later that week, I got a chance to talk to many of the High School classes where my sister teaches.  It was great to talk about Nepal, show pictures, and expand the minds of the students.  They were very interested in the day to day life in Nepal and I shared all the stories that I thought might interest them including about menstruation rules and using “eastern toilets” with no toilet paper.  Hopefully, I inspired some of them to volunteer as well someday.

A few weeks later, I took a train up to Northern California, visited friends in the bay area and got a chance to see many friends that I have not seen in years.  It was so great to feel that the passing of time had only given us more to talk about, and more adventures to look forward to.  I am so grateful for their hospitality and love.

After coming back to Nepal, I spent one week in Katmandu before heading back to my permanent site.  After the 25 hour flight the jet lag stared to fade to fade.  I woke up every morning to the sound of light rain, the feel of moisture in the warm air, and the sight of low hanging clouds.  

There are 4 different Peace Corps groups represented here now and I got to meet some of the new volunteers that had arrived last March.  They are a tight knit group after being together through the earthquake in Katmandu.  At the time of the earthquake they were all in Katmandu and luckily none of them were injured, at least not physically.  After spending 6 weeks at home, 90% of their group returned to serve in Nepal.  I am inspired by their enthusiasm, resilience and dedication.  

Being back at site is great.  Everyone I met wanted to know:  a) When did I get back? b) Did I make it toAmerica? c) How was my family?  Not being completely fluent in Nepali and Doteli, I’m thankful for moments like these when I can reasonably predict what people are going to ask.  It’s usually a question someone else has recently asked, so I’m prepared to answer.  It was also sweet how many of them asked how my family was.  They really wanted to know who I got to see and how everyone was.  

Rice Seedlings!

My Nepali mom and brother...farming is hard work

I was invited to plant rice with my family a little over a week ago.  It was a great experience that began with morning puja (getting red tikka on my forehead) and lighting incense in the field.  Then me and 8 other women rolled up our pants, took off our shoes and jumped into the thigh deep mud.  For the next 8 hours, with only a 1 hour break for lunch I plopped rice seedlings into the ground alongside my family.  The boys and men ploughed the field, removed large rocks, made berms to hold in the water, then flooded the field with river water.  After it was flooded, the women line up and walk backwards as they plop the seedlings into the mud.  It’s back breaking work and I didn’t think I would be as sore as I was afterwards.  It took about a week to recover.  I’m not sure how my mom does it almost every day for about a month.  Last Saturday I saw her sprawled out on the bench at our house and she told me “Today I’m going to be lazy”.  I smiled and said “I think you deserve it”.