My work in Kathmandu

Some of you may have noticed that I changed the details of what I was doing in Nepal sometime during my stay. That is because it turned out to be very different than what my placement agency explained to me. In general, I found most of the information my agency sent me to be incorrect. My living situation was totally different, my internship was completely wrong, and they advised me NOT to bring my laptop, which a few wise volunteers ignored, and they turned out to be the ones we all relied on for computer usage. Grrr.

Initially I thought I was going to be doing work with women who were victims of or potential victims of trafficking. Now I know that I would have worked with the organization called the Women's Foundation in Kathmandu, which does precisely that. However, I was also asked to be a stand-in emergency ESL teacher.

When I arrived, there was massive confusion about what to do with me, but what eventually was decided is that I would fulfill the expectation to work with a non-profit whose name I will not mention here for political reasons. They work with Tibetan refugees in Nepal, preserving Tibetan culture and language, offering job skills training and English classes. I would teach these students in the morning, at the smaller location right outside the monkey temple. But I was done at noon, so had to find something else to do with myself.

Anita Yu, fellow volunteer, worked afternoons for this organizations, but spent her mornings at an HIV orphanage in the same neighborhood. She took me to the orphanage and introduced me to the director. It is called Punarbal Plus.

Every day, I would take the bus to Swoyambu, walk to the Reading Room, and conduct two English classes. It is so much fun to have students who are so eager to learn, though I was frustrated by the lack of resources for teachers. What can you do?

I would eat lunch at Swoyambu cafe, which was clean and staffed by nice people. I could get a plate of momos and a lemon soda (soda water and freshly squeezed lemon juice) for less than 100 rupees, or just barely over $1.

After that I walked through Swoyambu to get to the orphanage. For the first week, I taught English and math to the kids, then played with them after school, then helped with homework. The second week they had exams, so I didn't teach, but mostly helped them study up. The third week was their summer break, so we just played everyday. I became their favorite doll with hair, favorite toy to climb on, favorite jump rope partner, and most frequently, a willing player of "coco dai" (no idea how to spell that) a hand-slapping game in the family of "Down by the Banks."

I have often wondered how it is possible to care so deeply about someone so quickly, but the circumstances of living in another country seem to facilitate that kind of connection. When it came to my last day of teaching my Tibetan students, they presented me with what is called gata. In the Tibetan tradition, when they wish to show love and honor to someone, they drape them with these thin white scarves. They are usually simple, though some of my students bought more ornate ones for me. At the end of class, they processed up and laid them over my head. I could not control myself. I started bawling. When they saw me cry, they started, too. In limited English, they begged me to remember them, and I told them there was no way for me to forget.

Remembering seems to be very important for the Nepali people I met. Frequently I was asked "will you forget me when you go home?" I thought "What a ridiculous thing to ask!"

My last day at the orphanage was Sunday, the day before my plane left. I spent the whole day there, teaching in the morning, grabbing some quick lunch, and coming back for homework and afternoon play time. Punarbal Plus is an incredibly uplifting place to be. The children are taken care of, loved, and allowed to be children, while still being held to certain behavioral standards. You can tell the adults who care for them are sincere.

As I left, every child at the orphanage came up to give me a hug, saying "bye ma'am!" and smiling a huge smile. Again, I lost it. Somehow love had broken through a language, culture and age barrier. I wept at the thought that I would not see my Januka, Raj, Amisha, Bapina, Durga, or Laxman again. A couple of the older kids started crying, too, when they witnessed my tears. The younger children clung to me and watched my face with concern. They followed me to the gate, hanging on to me and rattling off something in Nepali. Chakra, their caretaker, showed me to the bus, which he never does, and shook my hand. "Will you forget us?" he asked. I shook my head. "Not possible."

My heaven is where all the people I love are in one place, and I don't have to miss any of them. In the meantime, I suppose this is the gypsy's dilemma.