Intimate Yet Chaotic Nepal

Written August 16, 2010 by Keesler Welch

As I sit here in California, halfway across the world from Nepal, I reflect on my recent summer trip, which can only be described as “intimate yet chaotic.” When friends and family ask me about my two and a half month trip, how do I respond? (Not to mention that these friends and family range from those who confuse Nepal with Naples, Italy or those who only know of Nepal as being near Mount Everest.) All I can muster up is: “It was awesome! I will have to show you my pictures.” After all, every picture tells a story.


Intimate yet [very] chaotic Kathmandu

As far as my research project is concerned, the results of my fieldwork were often more complicated than I previously imagined. I first came to Nepal thinking that I would have time to tackle the entire issue of water management, including all of the stakeholders and politics that came with it. But in reality, I ended up focusing only on three aspects of water management (which was complicated enough!) Not to mention that the supply aspect of water is a whole other issue. Nevertheless, I hope to use my summer research as a stepping-stone for my Master’s thesis in hopes of one day continuing what I started in Nepal.

What did I learn the most this summer from living abroad and doing fieldwork? “Nothing is as it seems.” Kathmandu may seem chaotic, but it is also quite orderly and intimate at the same time. While it seems that water management and supply issues have obvious solutions, they are, in reality, complicated and influenced by backdoor politics and international donors.


As illustrated above, the theme of "nothing is as it seems," was first discovered with my friend Cecilia when she ordered chocolate covered fruit, only to discover a chocolate covered tomato! [Gross!]

In all seriousness, I have grown, both as a person, and academically. In order to make a difference in this world, I hope to be "out in the field" instead of behind a desk. I hope to find the words to describe Nepal articulately to my family and friends in a way that they too fall in love with this country as we all have.

An excerpt from a day in June

My laundry is sun-kissed by the Saturday Kathmandu sun and it smells like a long-lost memory that’s gently nudged to remembrance. The cotton feels rough, that particular feeling of crisp cloth that’s dried in purely natural forces without fabric softener. Earlier in the day, sometime between showering and breakfast, I was crouching over a bucket full of suds and laundry on the rooftop of my Nepal home. The soapy water was refreshing in the already harsh heat of late June. As I kneaded, the water turned dark gray from all that my clothes had inhaled of Kathmandu. I’m overly conscious about water here and I just rinse once. A dark monsoon cloud dropped its load as I finished at the clothesline, but no one rushed out on the other rooftops to take their laundry in so I decided not to bother either. Sure enough, the rain passed as swiftly as it came. It seems that Nepal will not only be embedded in my skin, but in my clothes as well.

For those of you who are not physically near me, the air around me in general smells like ghee. And the fingers and fingernails on my right hand are all stained yellow with turmeric from the daily helpings of curried vegetables. I’m pretty sure it seeps from my pores too. I perspire Nepal. Or I’d like to think so. Maybe that’s me romanticizing the fact that I’m sticky with sweat that runs like a broken faucet even on the coolest rainy days, hair poofy and confused from the metallic smelling water, and sunglasses sliding down my non-existent Asian nose bridge as I strut up the rocky streets. On days I accidentily step in the deadly puddle mixtures of unknown substances and substances of unknown people, I laugh and thank my mother for the positive humor she has passed on to me that seems to keep my love for this place undamaged.

“What you think…about Nepal?”

My host mom, among so many other Nepalis, has asked me this question and it’s almost surprising to myself that the word “dirty” or any of its kind never registers in my head as an accurate description.

I say this even when I have learned quickly to identify different kinds of poop that lay in my path everyday. When it smells like a barn, all earthy and reminiscent of that odor when you approach Central Park from the south side, there’s a hefty pile of greenish cow pies that’s usually been run over a few times by various vehicles. When I smell a less pungent, grainy stink, I’m approaching chickens cooped up in cages ready to be sold and chopped up by the end of the day. When the stench is strong and really attracting flies, it’s usually dogs. Or humans. Especially in the allies between houses. The omnivores provide the best droppings for those winged things.

Not dirty still, as I cross over the Bagmati on the tempo, giving off the odor that will shoot right through your mask that you bought from the vendor that ripped you off with the sweetest smile. This river that once quenched Kathmandu and its surroundings is now a graveyard of trash, animals and sewage.

Even when the smell of urine suffocates me on the streets of Thamel, I cannot dismiss this place as the filthy reality it often is.

Maybe it’s because I know that someone had cleaned the big pile of poop that laid in that tiny ally everyone uses for a shortcut. (There was no trace of that smelly thing the next morning. It was completely removed.) Maybe it’s because I hear all the Nepalis speaking so fondly of their country and its beauty, minus the politics. Maybe it’s because spices and incense and oddly comforting odor of sweet sweat, in the most audible and asserting whisper, all tell me of life that color every inch of this palette called Kathmandu. There are no white spaces. Even the dead, the inanimate, the silent; they all speak.

I may run out of excuses for Kathmandu. It could possibly happen in the last week of my stay here that seems so far off but I know will be rapidly approaching. But the frustration and criticism, no matter how severe, will undeniably come from the attachment and fondness this city has already planted in me. And the smell will always be a patch in the back of my nose, the chaos of wet mud and dry exhaust with a hint of pee.

Intangible Cultural Heritage

I figure that while I am in Nepal I should really make an effort to do and try as much as I can, so when my host mother suggested that I accompany her when she went to her aerobic dance class I couldn’t think of a good enough reason to say no. I accepted her invitation not knowing exactly what sort of commitment I was making. Our initial conversation happened over my morning cup of Nescafe and when I returned home that evening I was presented with a pair of purple Nepali dance slippers. While I know that they weren’t a huge investment of money, I did get the feeling that I was somehow already involved in something more than I had anticipated. Once you get gear it usually means more than a one time affair, and I can’t help but think that this point was not lost on her either. As it turns out the class meets 6 days a week, and unless I have other pressing things to do at 6:30am I now know where I will be spending almost every morning during my time in Nepal - in an overheated “dance studio” in Kathmandu with a dance teacher so small I could fit her in the palm of my hand, my 58 year old host mother in trousers and kurti, and a twenty-something guy who is, according to my host mother, the team leader. Based on his overwhelming enthusiasm for The Dance I can see why he was appointed to this role. The past two mornings we have walked into the room to find him thoroughly engaged with his reflection in the tall mirrors as he practices rolling his entire body while maintaining eye contact with himself. And his high kicks are something to behold; what they lack in control they make up for in gumption. Very reminiscent of the way Shelley Long and her scouts do the Freddie in the 1989 classic film Troop Beverly Hills.

We leave the house no later than 6:45am, making our way down the hill, past people crouched down in their front yards brushing their teeth and the woman hanging clothes out to dry as chickens and babies circle her feet. Past the banana trees and gardens protected by broken glass, all the way down till we hit Ring Road where we cross over the River Stink and the slums and oddly healthy looking patches of corn that line its banks. Past where the cows and people sleep on the side of the bridge. Under the monkey traipsing on the power line. Past the guy refurbishing shoes and the lady with her sewing machine waiting patiently for a customer, dodging the pubescent boys who lean out of the open doors of the micro buses calling out the names of various destinations around the city. By the time we enter the unadorned little doorway sandwiched between storefronts and have climbed the stairs to the floor where X-Pose runs its talent training operations my senses are exhausted and my teeth are gritty and coated with dust.

Because I have joined the class late in the term I don’t receive much help, and have instead been instructed to just follow the lead of the teacher, which I do with a remarkable lack of grace and poise. Because both the Hindu and Nepali dances that I am learning are very gestural, frequently requiring me to flick my wrists and flap my arms while doing 180 degree turns on one foot, I have to be very careful that none of my limbs accidentally make contact with anyone else's head or stomach. The first half of the class is time for warm-ups, and we do the regular preparatory exercises of jogging in place, kicking in various directions, and hopping back and forth, but there are other moves that are a bit less traditional than what one does in western dance classes. Part of me wishes that I could share this experience with someone with whom I could later process, but I also know that if I had a companion I would most likely not be able to control the fits of laughter that I constantly have to swallow when the three of us are trying to perfect moving our heads from side to side with attitude while our shoulders and bodies remain stationary. If nothing else I will be an expert at walking like an Egyptian by the time I leave Nepal.

I read in the news today that Nepal has ratified the UN Convention on Intangible Cultural Heritage and I feel that by learning the craft of modern Nepali dance I am doing my part in spreading some very intangible cultural heritage. I only wish I could do it with a little more flair.

For the girl whose face swells up when she eats peaches

(A collaborative work by Martin, Aya, and Katie)

Part Un

There once was a girl who hated leeches
“they’ve no purpose in life,” she preaches
She faces off with a buff
Thinking she’s tough
But in the end she jumps up and down and screeches

Part Deux

There once was girl who loathed bugs
She thought they were a bunch of thugs
She got cornered by a fly
She thought she would die
But was saved by a woman with jugs... of water

Part Trois

There once was a girl who hated nature
She thought it was ripe with danger
In ninety degree heat
She was covered in DEET
Thank god she’s studying the legislature


Part Quatre

There once was a girl from BA
Who met with the leader of the PLA
She saw flowers on his blinds
And thought is was fine
But questioned if he was gay

Part Cinq

There once was a student of rights
Who got involved in a couple of fights
But she picked one with a leech
With a much longer reach
And now she sleeps with the lights… on

fin

I will miss your rains, Kathmandu.

Forever yours,
Dragica



Photo: author Aya; title: happy.

Gundu Village Visit

Written July 19, 2010 by Keesler Welch

A couple weeks ago I visited the Village Development Committee (VDC) of Gundu which is in Bhaktapur district. (See map below)



The organization that I am based out of just completed a two-year long water and sanitation improvement plan for Wards no. 6 and 7 within Gundu village. Although Gundu VDC is in close proximity to Bhaktapur city, safe water and sanitation there was in very poor condition so ENPHO, with support from WaterAid Nepal, took immediate action in devising an improvement program. And in order to ensure that the water and sanitation issues (which were relevant to the community) were to be addressed in a comprehensive manner, ENPHO conducted a study with extensive participation from local communities. Therefore, the “Gundu Environmental Sanitation Improvement Programme” became a community-based initiative that utilized the households and centered on a community approach to improve sanitation and public health.

Before the implementation of ENPHO’s improvement plan, a survey that was conducted in the village showed that 24% of households were completely deprived of toilet facilities. But among those with toilets, most of them (79%) did not practice safe and hygienic sanitation. Furthermore, the quality of water in Gundu is very poor since there is lack of a proper treatment system and some households (38%) did not practice any type of filtration before consuming. Other households (35%) only used cloth filtration. This led to some diarrhea and fever problems (but fortunately no deaths!)

Since the improvement plan was only a two-year long project, the “Gundu Environmental Sanitation Improvement Programme” has come to an end but I wanted to see for myself how the community has carried on with what ENPHO started. So after lots of driving and asking for directions through unpaved roads uphill, we finally found Ward no. 6 and 7 of Gundu. While there I met with a water user committee member of Ward no. 7 who has been on the committee for awhile. First I asked him about the make-up of the water committee in Ward 7. He stated that there are 11 members on the committee but only 3 are women. The ages of the committee members range from 35 years old to 67, with him being one of the oldest. When I asked him how the community has been carrying on from where ENPHO left off, he said the biggest problem is that there still needs to be more awareness on why not to defecate in some areas. He went on to say that particularly during the monsoon season, when farmers are out in the field and far away from toilets, open defecation is quite common. However, the water user committee is struggling with ideas on how to enforce these new sanitation practices. He stated that the community members can be fined as a penalty but he doesn’t believe that this enforcement is strong enough to change people’s habits without some type of awareness campaign. Only when the water user committee members come walking around do households practice safe and hygenic practices, he added. However, "ENPHO did a good job of going door-to-door to educate the community members, which is unlike the other [NGO] groups who have come to implement projects in the past."

Below are some pictures of ENPHO's work that were taken during my site visit.


EcoSan toilet. It consists of two chambers which are used for defecation and an outlet for urine. This way urine and feces will be separated. When the first chamber is filled up with feces, it is closed for 6 months. In the meantime the second chamber is filled up. This converts feces into manure which can then be used as fertilizer.


Toilet with solar compost to be used as fertilizer.


ENPHO logo on ECOSan toilet.


Rainwater harvesting to increase water supply.

In sum, ENPHO's “Gundu Environmental Sanitation Improvement Programme” has led to better water quality, improved water pressure at tap stands, construction of toilets for every household, promotion of EcoSan toilets, a health and hygiene training program at school, storm water management and drainage system, solid waste management, and general awareness to the inhabitants on water and sanitation related issues so that the local government can take over once ENPHO has completed the project.

Before leaving, I asked our water user committee friend what's the next big challenge for Gundu. He stated that since drinking water supply is not a problem anymore, the next big issue is securing enough water for irrigating the fields. Currently the community relies solely on the monsoon rains although they are waiting to hear back on a project proposal which would help them build a canal so that water is better collected at their source point.


Signage for “Gundu Environmental Sanitation Improvement Programme.”

GURU (ng)

There is always a reason and science can explain everything. This is generally my position, whenever I have to cope with magicians, circus, fortune-tellers, astrologists, stories of ghosts, devils and curses, weird natural effects or alleged miracles. Maybe that is what happens when you have a biologist as a mother and a chemical engineer as a father. As a child, I have never heard of storks carrying babies in their beak. Babies come when, 9 months before, a spermatozoon meets an ovule. I have always known that, since the age when you start to come out with uncomfortable questions.

The ayervedical medicine is an illusion, the intolerance test works because of placebo effect. The sky is blue because of the way the Earth's atmosphere scatters light from the sun; Santa Clause exists just if you believe in it [so, Santa Clause do NOT exist].

Sometimes however, my skepticism and intense rationality fold up in the most unexpected moments.

During our field trip, we spent three days in a village named Mittikan, few hours from Pokhara. Mittikan is mostly a Gurung village. Gurung are a Nepali ethnic group migrated from Tibet in the 6^th century, traditionally brave, strong and loyal soldiers, known for their contribution to the Gurkha and British Armies. The family I was hosted in was a relatively wealthy family: my father was a literate man in his 40s, and the children two teenagers students (the third child was in Saudi Arabia working as a waiter). Nobody in the family could speak or understand English, but gesticulation, face expressions, and some Nepali words here and there (thanks Dee!!) helped the communication. The second day I woke up 6 in the morning feeling really, really bad. Probably because of some not-so-boiled water, or a strange food reaction, I spent all the day and following night throwing up, trembling and in a semi conscious status. Therefore, while everybody else was joyfully playing volleyball and experiencing the village lifestyle, rice plantation and the typical Gurung dance, I was, instead, experiencing the typical Gurung toilet. I felt really sad, because I knew that that was the only occasion we had to be in a village, and I was not able to enjoy anything there.

My Gurung aama is the sweetest woman in the world. She decided to take care of me in her own way and I decided (consciously or unconsciously) to trust her own way. Basically we communicated just through expressions ( I feel that my facial expressions have incredibly “developed” since I have arrived in Nepal). When she entered in my room in the afternoon, without any reason I showed her the medicine I was taking, and not surprisingly she did not understand anything (“she is not a biologist, Eu!!” ). She just put back the medicine on the table and took a comb instead. She started slowly combing my hair and tie them in a pony tail. It was nice, slightly calming my stomach also. Later in the evening, after my noisy throwing up, she took my trembling arm and dragged me somewhere behind the house. I was really weak and confused. On the way, I saw Dee sitting with the aunt eating baked corn, and I was able to tell her to please come with me because I had no idea where I was going. Dee, my mum, the aunt and I entered finally in a dark room/house, where there was this little old man watching television, sited in a wooden bed. His glasses were deep, and his legs too short to touch the floor. My Aama explained to him something in Gurung, pointing at me. He made me sit in front of him, and looked at me. I tried to smile at him. He was holding some seeds on his right hand. Then he started whispering something while doing some large gestures with his arm around my body. I was silent all the time, and Dee too. I enjoyed that situation, taking it seriously. I did not ask any question to my Aama, what was happening and why. Making no opposition. Maybe because I felt really weak, I just trusted her, him, and in general trusted the situation around me.

My self-control, skepticism, rationality left room for a while to a more spiritual side of myself, and at the end of the day I thought experiencing that sensation was as much as intense as experiencing rice plantation or a Gurung dance.

I came back in my room. On the table my medicine, and, next to it, a comb.

American Architects in Nepal

-Kim

So, what happens when you bring American architects to Nepal?  Particularly, in the time frame of the 1960's?  You get the royal palace, now the Palace Museum.  Dee thinks it looks like some sort of Christian church, I think it looks much more like a Florida retirement home.  For those of you who have never seen the palace, let me describe it for you.  I agree with Dee, the outside looks like a weird version of an Episcopalian church, painted in what can only be described as Pepto-Bismol pink.  Basically, think of the stereotypical Florida pink exterior paint color, and that what the palace looks like.

The interior was worse.  Wood paneling, flowered upholstery, and lots of portraits of people in ridiculously large glasses.  Unfortunately, no pictures were allowed.  As we first walked in, we saw the grand entrance hall with a double staircase leading down into it.  I seriously only thought those things were only in the movies, where one person goes down one side of the staircase and the other goes down the other side, and they meet at the bottom.  On the side of the staircase were two giant tigers, rearing up on their back paws.

There were only 19 rooms open to the public; the rest of the palace was closed off.  We saw a lot of the receiving rooms for foreign dignitaries, heads of state, Nepali parliamentarians, and others.  The receiving rooms were pretty much the same- lots of photos, wood paneling, plush velvet couches, flower patterns galore, and a mix of Western and Nepali art and figurines/trinkets.  We also saw the various dining rooms- one for just the visiting dignitaries, and a large banquet room for huge parties of visitors.

There was one hallway in the palace that was lined with pictures of the late King and Queen with various visiting dignitaries.  The Bangladeshi heads of state visited quite a lot, but they also got visits from the Swiss Confederation, England, Yugoslavia, and other Asian states.  Those photos were really fascinating to walk past, seeing who has visited officially.

We also saw the various bedrooms in the palace.  They have one bedroom for the visiting head of state, another one for that person's relatives traveling, and a final one for the head of state's first lady.  This, of course, begged the question of, what if the visiting head of state is a woman?  I guess the husband would get sent there.  Visitors were also allowed to view the king and queen's bedroom.  I was very surprised at how modest it was.  I would say it is only slightly larger than a typical master bedroom in an American house, and it was very much not ornate in its decorations.  I expected the bedroom of the king and queen to be large, ostentatious, and richly decorated.  Clearly, my assumptions were way off here.

After viewing the palace we viewed the gardens, which were sad.  The whole palace seems in a state of non-upkeep.  The lawns and gardens were overgrown.  Also, the fountain looked quite terrible, in the same style as the palace.  Jakub stated that it looked like a communist swimming pool from back home.  It was all white and seafoam green paint, with a little bit of a garish mauve.  We did see one animal in the garden, which I believe resides in the deer family (I'm not sure what exact kind of animal it was).

Outside, they also had the grounds open where the building was where the royal massacre occurred.  Unfortunately, all that was there were the foundations, as the building was destroyed soon after the massacre.  Honestly, this doesn't help much in refuting the conspiracy theorists that think Gyanendra or some other force was behind the massacre.  You know, something about destroying evidence (and the whole damn crime scene) so soon after the incident.  It was a little surreal to see the site, although I think it would have been even weirder if the building were still there and they let people in there (although I'm sure they wouldn't have done that).

All in all, it was quite an interesting experience, seeing this palace that we've read about and seen so many times in our time in Kathmandu.  It was also slightly disturbing to see that the interior looks just as horribly retro as the exterior.  Hopefully, the next time someone in Nepal tries to bring foreign architects in, they will pick someone a little more renowned and with better taste.  Although, I guess in their defense that was the style then...

Not an “I” in “Inclusive” of Nepal’s Inclusive Democracy (Start with the Victims)

July 10, 2010 post by Dragica

It is hard to believe that this beautiful adventure is coming to a close (this said with 4 weeks left still, 3 more in Nepal and the rest in India). It feels like that to me. I am not ready to go, even though my mom, for example, is in disbelief when I said my summer was flying by too quickly (she misses me). Today, I replied to a friend who asked “how is Nepal?” that it was a “beautiful chaos.” This is a good description for it. It is the place where the most beautiful colors of the world come from, among other things. Nepal has taught me so much in a very brief period of time, and it forever has a place in my heart. I keep thinking about the overall unpredictability of life, and when I tell my Nepali family, colleagues and friends that I will come back soon, I am not certain how my life’s path is going to wind its way back here. I feel that somehow it will. That is the thrill of fate that I am willing to accept.

The last two weeks at my internship were spent researching and in the field, conducting interviews with victims and victims’ leaders of the ten-year conflict (1996-2006), along with NGOs and others concerned with the topic of victims’ organizing and transitional justice. It will be challenging to synthesize, but it is amazing how quickly one can gather research for a good overview, and I hope to do my findings justice in the remaining weeks to be spent on finishing my report, and writing the next portion of my academic paper (excluding our retreat to gorgeous Pokhara and Chitwan starting this Sunday). I always say that the most valuable aspect of the International Field Program at GPIA is the opportunity to self-reflect and position oneself in a given “career” for a while to see what fits and what does not. I am discovering that everything I have done all along in my academic path has been leading to the work on human rights. It just so happens sometimes that what one is pursuing ends up having a name, but one needs to find themselves in a position to recognize that. This will be the key legacy of my Nepal 2010 IFP.

Many conversations, firsthand accounts, observations and intellectualizing later (in any one day of my summer work, I would change my mind about something after each encounter, as I was learning), I am still convinced that societies recovering from war cannot move forward on their path to reconciliation and peace until the past is confronted head on, and in the process, victims – the many who have suffered directly and indirectly – are completely included and made compensation for in the process. This is why in the last 10 months, I chose to focus on a particular policy to facilitate that, transitional justice, and the more I see it criticized, the more I think about it in the perspective of any other policies out there – we are just trying to understand our world, break down the phenomena, and come up with a solution. However imperfect, these are malleable plans that can be perfected under close study and follow-up, as long as the theories they stand upon are strong. I wish the least powerful to gain their rightful place in the process – at the center. On the surface, victims-based approach seems so utterly logical if the very problems one is seeking to address via given post-conflict policies concern the very recipient of the abuses during the war – the victims. However, nothing is quite like it seems. Not in Nepal.

The tragedy of the Nepali situation is that it is highly political, and everyone and everything is overly-politicized, so that the movements, such as the one I am studying (victims’ movement) become divisive, and thereby weakened in their divisiveness. So are the victims who tried to strengthen their voice through organizing for their own security and protection, power leverage and greater justice gains. The climate in which they operate is so complex. There are too many manipulations and forces that exert various pressures on them, and meanwhile, they are just trying to discover their lost family member, or asking their government for an acknowledgment of their suffering, an apology. How does one empower them while letting them know there truly is strength in numbers? That victim is a victim, no matter the victimizer; no matter the ideology; no matter the caste, class, or gender; no matter the severity of their suffering.

The biggest flaw of any public policy is that it cannot possibly, realistically encompass every single case in its unique form, as these incidents were so varied, no matter how context sensitive the policy is. The pain is so real and the incidents so different, each a solitary experience deep down, but some generalizations can still be made, as long as we are able to be inclusive and hear everyone’s voice. That part is realistic.

It is possible to create common platforms where these stories can be told. I’ve seen it done during my internship by the human rights community, and I have created my own space and the space for others to speak up. I am leaving here with a sense of greater concern for the top leadership in Nepal than their grassroots.

How can a person live peacefully in a country that either terrorized them, or allowed terror to occur, where the same faces are still in power, institutions of authority meant to protect the public good that abused their people are still in place? How can people who received this kind of treatment move on without being reassured that it will not happen again; that somebody takes responsibility for these acts; that somebody is sorry it all happened? How can a government possibly gain legitimacy in the eyes of its people if it refuses to merely engage in a dialogue when they are crying out for help, exasperated, broken, poor, humiliated, forgotten? I feel for the innocent people who are never asking for wars to be fought, but are always irresponsibly pulled into them by the power-hungry few, then re-victimized when it comes time for repair. I’ve seen it all. I never forget the 150,000 who never made it alive in Bosnia.

Nepal is in deep trouble with its leadership. It is a patronage-meets-corruption system of rule, and the government is accountable to no one. The politicians are running pretend-democracy and everyone sees through them, but how to fix this? I see no end to impunity, while I see no way it can go on either. In a democracy where no one seems to be included, how does one choose to vouch for a particular voice (as I am doing with victims)? Sometimes (really!) I wonder why we let idiots (excuse me) run our countries? It is a universal flaw. I wish for Nepal’s peace process to run somewhat like the traffic in Kathmandu – chaotic, in all directions, but flowing without any major clashes. However, even to this, the status quo will expire and eventually we’ll need a traffic light. Something that sets the rules, and can stand in stability, while the rest respect the rules (a stable government perhaps? the rule of law? no conflict).

No conflict.

Dragica

My walk to work

Here's a google map of what that walk looks like:

Hey. Pssst. Nepal... You're Dirty

Some days Nepal is my friend. I enjoy its company and taking part in its life. Some days we share some poignant moments. If I can find the rhythm of the day I am happy. Those days filled with successful meetings, and crossings of the street. When I don’t overpay too much for a cab, or get dropped off by a tempo in just the right place. When I say something in Nepali and I am understood. When I try something new. When something, anything, makes sense. I don’t mind the load shedding. The rains, when they come, are a relief.

Other days I struggle with wanting to yell at it. Tell Kathmandu to be quiet, clean itself up, pull itself together. Walking down the street being trailed by a child trying to sell me a postcard or pulling at my arm as if my skin were a sleeve wears on me. The honking grates at my nerves, especially on those mornings when the city wakes me up before the birds get the chance to. The black exhaust that coats me when I walk by. The dirt, the poverty, the confusion. The lack of sidewalks or street names. These things sometimes culminate to a point where I want to bubble over and shake this country. Walking over the Bagmati River that smells like dying animals, lined with slums.

I live in an area that is overrun by NGOs, INGOs, IGOs (basically every .org acronym you could think of has set up shop here) but no one seems to be dealing with these simple things. There should be no reason that I can see for Kathmandu to have such a water problem. Yes, I understand that it is dry for much of the year, and the monsoons are an essential part of the health of this country. But there are so many rivers here, why no one is cleaning them up I just can’t understand. Yes, of course there's more to it than that. But still. Clean up the damn river. Make it an asset, not a liability. Utilize the resources that are here. Build capacity. Empower people. Educate. Do all the things that these organizations tout. In some ways Kathmandu seems primed to be at the cutting edge of the environmental movement. Based on the lack of clean water, many houses practice rain gathering. Because of the shortage of electricity many houses have solar panels. People compost. People walk and take public transportation. But there is a lack of infrastructure and more importantly the city seems to lack a plan. All of these simple things that are done out of necessity, stemming from financial and natural sources could, if developed into cohesive policy actually make a big difference in the functioning of the city. Or so it seems from the naïve foreigner's perspective who has only been here a month. I’m sure it’s more complicated. It has to be. Otherwise why wouldn’t things be different?

So here we are, it’s the 4th of July, and I have to admit I am completely uninterested in doing anything particularly American. Not that I think there is anything wrong with celebrating, and I thought that I would be much more interested in doing something quintessentially American on this day, but it turns out that I'm not. Everyday in Kathmandu I walk around with an overt understanding of being a foreigner. My foreignness is undeniable, and while on first glace I may be pegged simply as just being white I am constantly aware of my Americaness. For this reason, today I did not feel the need for any further patriotism. And since everything feels so latently coated with meaning I don’t think I could set off fireworks to celebrate independence day in a country that continues to struggle to define itself as a state in a fragile political climate. With the news of the Prime Minister’s resignation, and the need to establish a new government within the next three days, eating apple pie in the rain just doesn’t seem like something I want to do.

All that said, I can’t imagine wanting to be anywhere else this summer. In many ways the same things that are challenging or overwhelming are what make this experience so interesting and fun. Those moments of frustration never last, and at the end of the day the satisfaction of a day spent learning and being exposed to new thing makes it all worthwhile. I can handle the constant state of being overloaded with stimuli if it means I get to feel like I am enmeshed in a novella, complete with tales of love, death, intrigue, tradition, family, conflict, and mystery. I mean, really, let’s face it. How often does one get to live fiction?

Say (or scream) “Uncle!”

After a long and interesting day filled with two great meetings, dodging cars/bikes/vendors/generally all of Kathmandu, and some studying and skyping, Katie took a cab back to our part of town. The nights here in Kathmandu end pretty early - based on our standards of hanging out and studying back home - everything is closed by 10pm. Well, most everything. There’s the random bar that has paid a bribe to the police to stay open after the time dictated by the ordinance. We don’t tend to go there - for one I don’t think there’s a place near enough to our houses and second, we get locked out of our homes if we stay out past 10pm. So, we come back earlier. Its good also because things start much earlier here too. While in the first week of my home stay I was woken up by every aap (mango) and vegetable seller, wedding band, trash man, and bird from right outside my window to about 100 miles starting at about 4:45am. Though I’ve convinced myself that now that monsoon has supposedly started (although there’s no rain) everyone starts later - so I only receive this creative wakeup calls starting at 7am. That is a much more reasonable hour, even if its early and I could surely stay sleeping for longer (if the sun wasn’t so bright and the sounds didn’t seem like they were emanating from a place that was RIGHT NEXT TO MY EAR!).

So yesterday we left the café that fit all our requirements - mostly the wifi, the working wifi, then the request for beer, and then the need for cheap (we rarely make it to the cheap need) - and we all hopped in cabs to our separate homestays around the city. I was so tired by this point (7:30pm) that I was practically ready to enter my house and go straight upstairs to my room and sleep until the next morning. I feel very lucky in general with my host-family: they’re very nice, make me feel comfortable (besides the food pushing early in the morning….), and the house is a really home-y place to come back to. On the best days though, their 4-year-old granddaughter is still over.

The last few nights in Kathmandu have seemed more eerie. Its more palpable that something might happen. Although we’re the only ones that are feeling this based on the surge of police and armed police presence during the day but mostly down the completely desolate streets of our neighborhood at night. (We’ve been told that the new Superintendent of Police put more police on the streets to tighten up on crime, but also just in case something is being planned due to the pseudo-resignation of the PM the other day -- which also received much less fanfare than I would have expected, even if he was supposed to have resigned a month ago, and even if he didn’t actually leave the post….) So after making it through said creepy streets with my cell-phone lantern to help me spot the puddles, big rocks, or other people, I made it home - exhausted. But I was home.

Or was I.

I got to the gate. Its locked. UUUUGH! I start calling the house. The phone’s connected to the dial-up. This is the second night in a row that I’ve tried to call the house and can’t because the phone line is connected to the dial-up. I’m VERY glad that Uncle and Auntie are connected to the 21st century (between 7pm and 8am) but I almost want to gift them a second line. (Or maybe finally take down Uncle’s cell number….)

So I start screaming. UNCLE!! Wait a few minutes. UNCLE!! Oh I have keys! I have a set of about five keys. I think they open Buckingham Palace. I’m sure of it. Because my backpack in the middle of Kathmandu far far away from the Palace is a good place to save the extra set of keys…. I mean why else would I have these keys THAT DON’T OPEN A SINGLE DOOR IN OR TO THIS HOUSE?!

UNCLE!! AUNTIE!!

I see a light go on in the living room. SUCCESS! UNCLE!! Nope.

Doors to the apartment building next to the path to my house are open. “Why don’t you open the gate?” said one very sweet and helpful girl. “It’s locked. UNCLE!!” Then they start discussing my predicament between the various balconies - to which most of the building is now occupying to watch me scream UNCLE!! One nice man comes out.

He looks at me. Looks at the lock that is so clearly on and shutting me out from my bed and comfort and the possibility of sleep and laying down…. And one look at the part of the gate that opens for a car to pass through.

Then he looks at me.

And opens the car part of the gate.

…….. Maaph garnus neighbors. I’m sure at least that I provided you all with a good story to retell over dinner. I’m sure in that retelling I’ve become any number of ridiculous things. But Sorry/Excuse me anyways….

Yep. Now I also have Uncle’s cell number.

So after that long day which ended with an UUUUUGH it was really nice to come into the house and see that Samiya, the 4-year-old and her parents were over hanging out and watching TV. I was happy to be back at my homestay and happy to be the hoop for Samiya’s basketball and to watch a bit of Indian Idol.

"My Typical Work Day in Kathmandu, Nepal" by Keesler Welch

So I have been here in Nepal for exactly a month now. Therefore, I have my weekly set schedule which has become second nature to me by now. Let me share with you my typical work day in Kathmandu....

My day starts off with me sleeping in until 7am (yes sleeping in!) My host family wakes up at 5am every day to exercise and do whatever else one does early in the morning. I shower and usually have breakfast around 8am, after everyone else is well into their day already. My breakfast is always accompanied with “aap” (mango) since it is mango season right now.



Since the Nepali work day does not start until 10am, I usually linger around the living room to hang out with my host family or try to get some readings done before I leave for work. Around 9:30am I get ready for my 20 minute trek to work which is at an NGO called Environment and Public Health Organization (ENPHO, http://enpho.org/). Now this is where things get tricky. Did I mention that Kathmandu doesn’t really have street names or numbers? So how do I get to work? Well I exit through my families black gate, take a right down the winding street and to the busy Chowk I live near, keep walking straight then go diagonal once I reach a building which has been deemed the Flat Iron building (yes like the one in nyc), then past the international school where children wave at me, past the ironic Kurt Cobain lettering sprayed on the wall, left at Yum Yum noodle stand, right at the main road with lots of traffic, straight past two gigantic piles of trash taking over the sidewalk (no wonder everyone just walks in the street), then finally left at a construction site which leads me down a dirt road to ENPHO.

While at ENPHO I am working from their resource center on the fourth floor which has a great view of the neighborhood. I usually spend the morning reading or editing. Then around 1pm some co-workers from the 3rd and 4th floor have a group lunch in the meeting room. Everyone brings a dish to share but instead of sitting down and eating from plates, everyone stands around the table and starts grabbing at the rice, roti, etc. (and whatever else) all with their hands – it’s a total chow down fest. The co-worker who invited me to my first group lunch kept telling me to push through, get a spot, and start grabbing because the food will be all gone in 10 minutes.



It was so weird at first – a race to grab food? But now I really look forward to our group lunches where I can sample different Nepali homemade meals. As for my participation, I usually bring cookies from the store around the corner - I hope they don’t mind.



After lunch I really look forward to the masala tea which is served to the whole office (~50 people.) Then I complete my day with more readings and research if I have no scheduled meetings. Around 6pm I leave for the day and walk home past the construction site, up the main road and around the giant piles of garbage, left between a Pepsi sign and Coke sign which leads me to Yum Yum noodle, then a right past the empty international school, past the Kurt Cobain spray paint, then my beloved Flat Iron building, through the busy Chowk then down the winding road to my black gate where the housekeeper has this uncanny ability to always know when I am approaching the gate.

Tempo Rollercoaster or Gambling in the Taxino

Aya can have her tempos, for I prefer to gamble at the taxino.

To play at the taxino you only need possess an extremely basic knowledge of the Nepali language – a few numbers and a stock protest phrase (you’ll see what I mean) should suffice – and some passable acting skills. The game begins when you want to go somewhere, but cannot be bothered to deal with the aggravation of public transportation. At this point, you eye up the taxis in your vicinity looking for a suitable opponent. Once chosen, you make your opening gambit and the game begins.

For an opening salvo, you could do a lot worse than dipping your head and saying “Namaste dai” (Hello Brother!). This shows a modicum of cultural awareness, and thus may go someway towards encouraging more lenient opponents to go easy on you. After this you should immediately say your destination, followed by the word “koti?” (how much?). Then begins the next step of the game, in which you both try to guess the fare for the journey you are proposing.

Be prepared for the opposing player to pull a face and mutter something – he’s probably pleading about the price of petrol, the state of traffic, or the number of kids he has: you simply need to pretend to understand whatever he is saying, and nod appropriately. He will then give you his opening guess. This guess is simply a marker, and a good player will respond to it with vomit-inducing theatrics that would be a more appropriate response to news that the CA has declared eating momos a violation of bikas, or that the Nepali constitution has still not been written after three years (ok, maybe not the second one). Even the most reasonable price must be greeted as though it is the climax of King Lear: this is all part of playing a good strategy. Then, using your extremely basic Nepali, you offer your counter guess, which will generally be a good 100 to 150 rupees lower than what the driver said. A really good player (like I sometimes am) will not budge from this price. Here is where you throw in the stock phrase you have learnt in Nepali. At the moment I am working with “But [enter destination here] is quite close brother” or “I am a student” (the second one is unsurprisingly less successful). This is simply a softening-up tactic. Ultimately, whether you succeed in sticking to your first guess or not depends on how you play your end game…

Of course, the driver will revise his original guess, and what comes next is a battle of wits. If you have faith in the estimate you have given (as you should), you must call the bluff of the cabbie and say “meter ma janus” (lets go on the meter). This represents an ultimatum for the driver: either accept my offer or we’ll let the meter decide how much the trip costs. As such, this can be something of a gamble. But cabbies dislike the gamble (and like pocketing your money), and again, your opponent may shoot off a load of Nepali at you, probably saying that tomorrow is an inauspicious day and the world might end so he wants to live it up on this final night. Respond with a slightly dismissive shrug, feigning understanding, and repeat “meter ma janus.” If he accepts your guess is good, he will agree to your price, the game is over and you win – you correctly guessed the price of the journey. However, the gamble comes as the driver may decide to go on the meter, and it is a lottery whether or not he has doctored his meter to run faster (and was thus bluffing YOU all along). Often, the meter is fine, and the real price will end up somewhere between the guesses made (generally nearer your one). But when that meter does run fast, there is not much to be done but hold your hands up and accept defeat by a worthy opponent.

Tempo-riding may offer something of the thrill of the roller coaster, but it is at the taxino that the poker-faced egos battle it out for the sake of pride.

this is long... and ends with song lyrics.

So this blog entry is a full week late. Not late like you were actually waiting for it or its past any particular deadline, but I haven’t had the mental capacity at the end of the day to write anything. I’ve been really enjoying my time getting back into meeting lots of people and interviewing them on the topic that I’ve selected for this summer (which may turn into bigger work? Who knows…). So far I’ve had about 7 meetings and have another 6 or so scheduled for next week. (In 8 months I did 30 interviews in Argentina. Here in Nepal I’m rivaling that. Now I just have to sit and analyze all of it!!) Its interesting to get everyone’s opinion on the topic of individual rights and freedoms and the role of the citizen in the democracy. I need to sit and look at all that I’ve collected so that I can understand all I’ve heard more, but so far I’m really excited to just have had the opportunities to sit and talk with each of person and am looking forward to doing more.

In order to write this, I’ve left my house at 9:30am. I thought that I’d head to Pilgrims bookstore because I heard they were having a sale. No go. They’re closed until who knows what hour. So where else? The restaurant for today’s meetings is probably closed still -- and going there would mean that I would have to cross the main road… which unless I REALLY REALLY have to, I 100% do not feel like doing. So I went to The Bakery Café up near Pulchowk because I know that they have wifi and it’s a nice place to sit and read and write. Nope. Closed until 11. At this point its about 10am. I’ve already walked up the hill on the main road from Kupendole to Polchowk. Which means nothing to you… or really to me for that matter. Its all along one street (avenue?) and takes about 20 minutes to walk up if you walk at the pace that I walk. So yea. No meaning really.

So then I thought ok…. Now what? I walked to another café that while it looked 100% closed - as in no one was there yet and the people were just getting the displays together, I walked in with a big smile and said “OPEN?!” and they smiled so I took that as a yes. The barman however was not in yet, so I had to wait to get my bottle of water. So I sat down and turned on the fan - got the password for the wifi and basically forced them open. Sorry about that guys. But I couldn’t take it anymore! You had your gate up and a nice smile so I ran with it.

And thank goodness I did because I ended up with a meeting that I can just make before our weekly IFP meeting! I’m very excited about that! So thank you nice men that I forced to open earlier than you wanted. You have helped me a great deal in my research and I’ll remember you fondly for it. (Its casa Toscana near Polchowk - on the road that’s not the one with Vespers or New Orleans… the other one… yea. My direction giving skills were bad, and have gotten worse…). On a side note, I was meant to come here -- they’re playing Simon and Garfukel’s “Cecilia” on the speakers. Thank you once again for opening and for welcoming me in such a nice way!

For full disclosure, I started this blog in the café this morning and am now in the offices of the Nepali Times after an interview. So that’s kind of AWESOME. I’m blogging in a place where news happens J I’m a total news junkie and find this AWESOME! (Right. Others are reading this and this may lower my credibility as a serious student…)

--> note that I’m now editing this three days later than when I started writing this on Sunday…. Just you know, since I’m going for full transparency. My paper is on accountability and transparency (in the general sense) so I feel that I should uphold this in the blog too.

SO, the post I was working on and thinking about since last week:

“little truths”

(1) “Little Truths” is a comedy show on tv - don’t know the nepali name…- which is more or less a variety show with lots of short sketches and some of the same characters that show up in different sections. Again my descriptions are bad - apologies to one and all. But last week I was watching it with my host family, their daughter, son-in-law and 4 year old granddaughter. I don’t mind watching things I don’t understand, just watching is good for me. But I was glad when Uncle translated one of the sketches for me:

One man is looking up at the sky. Another man sees him, looks up and looks at the man. And then joins him in looking up at the sky. Then a third does the same, and then doesn’t see anything so asks what they’re looking for. The second guy says, I don’t know, I saw him looking. The first says he’s waiting for the constitution to fall from the sky.

This is interesting in and of itself because the fact that the constitution is made into a joke for prime time consumption is fantastic! Not fantastic that its being made fun of - but that its in the common discussion and part of the discussion which takes place on TV which then takes place around the dining room table - maybe (not in my house from what I can tell, but others maybe?) The other interesting part to this joke is the fact that the punch line is that the constitution will magically appear. From what I’ve understood, this is pretty much what everyone - even those writing the document itself - are waiting for. One hopes this is just the perception, but there are questions as to the political will of those involved.

(2) On one of our tours of the city during orientation we were told that the monsoon would start on June 17. This was based on folklore and other traditions. So far since then it hasn’t rained much. It did however, actually pour for the first time on June 17. The little truths of common understanding and wisdom prevail! Then of course as I said it didn’t rain. The other day was the big festival for Machindranath. There’s a whole long story with this that I don’t know well enough in the least to do it justice. However, this is essentially a chariot (I think two chariots?) that are made here near where I’m living in Patan and then make a circle around the many little streets of the neighborhood and end in the main rotary in Jawlakel. Every 12 years these chariots make a much larger trek to much further outside of Kathmandu into a far off district. At the end of the festival a bejeweled vest is shown to the crowd (again, I’ll have to find the story behind this) and the President (it used to be the King) acknowledges the showing of the vest. The dates for the making of this large chariot and the procession are of course decided upon based on astrological calendars and alignments. Its said that when this festival is completed, the monsoon will really start. This festival was delayed for one month because of these astrological signs. But once more, on the evening after the festival completed, it rained just as it had on June 17. With all the force in the world. Again, as after June 17, it hasn’t rained again since that evening. But no one said that it would rain every day or night, just directly after one or the other event.

(3) 4 year olds make the best teachers - especially if you’re learning a new language. While David Sedaris is right, and I am relatively angry with little kids that get things easier in terms of learning language - its nice when a child takes time to teach you too. Sometimes though I’m apparently a frustrating student and when I don’t understand a word, Samiya just says it louder. Apparently THAT is a universal way of communicating. They don’t understand you - say it louder. Or throw your hands in the air and grab a book to go over the alphabet and numbers with the person who is much too incompetent to understand what you’ve been trying so desperately to get across. (I also had an interesting question brought to me by Samiya. She wondered if I was white because I drank a lot of milk when I was younger. Not wanting to undo any parenting that had been done, I said that yes I did drink a lot of milk when I was young, but I was always this color…..)

(4) That you will have adventures in eating is a universal truth for traveling. But one would expect that these are adventures in eating strange foods or something you wouldn’t normally eat at home. However, here that has turned out not to be the case. Here, Katie and I have gone to one café a number of times - so much so that we’re regulars and while they don’t immediately bring us an iced tea when we arrive, they put the mosquito repellent at our usual table. Just like being at home! One day we were hungry and decided to go for salads - I thought I’d try the Hawaiian salad and Katie the Chef’s salad. I had asked what was in the Hawaiian and gotten a response that was confusing to both me and our waiter. But I ordered it anyway - I mean, why not? So the salads came. They were the same salad. In every way that it mattered they were the same - I have photos to prove this. The waiter saw our confusion and stood there. Waiting. “We ordered different salads.” “Yes, different.” “No, they are same same.” “No.” Points at Katie’s and says, “Cheese.” Points at mine and says, “No cheese.” Oooh. Ok. Not entirely the same salad. We both stand completely corrected. In another visit we ordered the vegetable basket. I made the mistake of inquiring if they were “fresh“, as opposed to “raw.“ We were told they were vegetables, yes fresh, in a basket with some sauce. We got, well exactly that but in a form that can only be described as complete creativity on behalf of the chef. They were puff pastry like baskets (one biters) with vegetables chopped in a sort of béchamel sauce. Well done. The vegetables were indeed fresh. Thank you. Another time I wanted french fries, and Katie wanted the greek salad. Turns out that the greek salad is what we thought the vegetable basket would be - a plate of raw vegetables. And I decided to take a chance and get cheese fries. Which turned out to be fried cheese.

Well done Jazzabel. I appreciate the surprise that you give me each time I order. Keep it coming - but please could we maybe strike a deal where you’re cheaper if I’m a regular customer, or if I’m confused about what it is that you’ve brought me?

(5) Since starting this post I’ve also made a number of observances that I’ll just list as things that made me go, “Ah ha!”:

- There’s a large billboard advertising for entrance into the British Gorkah Army. Ah ha….

- Today I took a tempo with a woman hanging off the back. Not surprising that there was someone riding standing and hanging on, but strange because it was a woman and there was also plenty of room for her (plenty being that a portion of another body fit inside comfortably enough). AND there was a woman driver! That surprised me more. And then, Ah ha! The driver was the daughter of the woman hanging off the back - and at one point the daughter (my guess) got tired of driving and maneuvering and asked for her mom to take over. She was hanging off the back to enter the front quicker! Ah ha! Also, Ah ha! is that when Priyanka and I knocked on the ceiling to get out, she didn’t stop until she reached a more appropriate stop. Women drivers are much more law abiding! Ah ha! Fascinating!

- There is a jew in Jamsikhiel (where I live)! No, I know that I’m here and Katie too. But there’s another! AND HE PLAYS KLEZMER MUSIC WITHIN ONE INCH OF HIS LIFE STARTING AT 7AM! Ah ha…. And then uuugh, thank you?

- In walking from a meeting to the main road to catch a bus back home, I was almost hit by a motorbike. No, that’s not Ah ha. That’s normal and furthers my annoyance with generally walking around, BUT what was Ah ha! Was that this motorbike had a GPS that was telling the driver to “Turn left at the next intersection.” No, my Nepali is not all of a sudden amazing, IT WAS IN ENGLISH! AND the driver heeded the GPS instructions! For you motorbike that almost hit me, I’m ok with that general lack of paying attention to me. I’ll let that go just for that excitement that you gave me!

- The best of all is an ad that I hope to sometime get translated. However, to my untrained eye and extremely limited (to none) understanding of Nepali there is an ad that I enjoy greatly that just recently started appearing on TV during half-time in the World Cup games. Its an ad which ends with a seal from one of the Nepali ministries that promotes the idea of businesses to give out receipts to their clients! Something about “bikas” (development) being said often in the ad makes me think that they’re saying something to the effect of, “If you don’t give out receipts how can we develop? Because without these simple pieces of paper how can we be accountable to each other. And if we can’t be accountable to each other in situations like this, how can we expect our government to do so?” Yea. That’s 100% what it says. Ah ha!

I’ll end this long (LONG) post with the following song: “Won’t be fooled again” by The Who and the following explanation from Pete Townshend on his reasoning for the song. I’ve been thinking about it a lot in the Nepali context and it’s been stuck in my head for weeks now…

“Townshend stated in 2006 that: "It is not precisely a song that decries revolution - it suggests that we will indeed fight in the streets - but that revolution, like all action can have results we cannot predict. Don't expect to see what you expect to see. Expect nothing and you might gain everything. The song was meant to let politicians and revolutionaries alike know that what lay in the centre of my life was not for sale, and could not be co-opted into any obvious cause. [...] From 1971 - when I wrote Won't Get Fooled Again - to 1985, there was a transition in me from refusal to be co-opted by activists, to a refusal to be judged by people I found jaded and compliant in Thatcher's Britain." -- from wikipedia (apologies… but it was exactly what I was looking for) http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Won%27t_Get_Fooled_Again

These lyrics and most of the interviews that I’ve had could basically be interchanged. Everyone is saying the same thing - the leaders are all the same; the constitution will be new but what will it change; with all the political changes that have occurred, what really is different? Not much. People are just hoping they won’t be fooled again. (sorry for the direct play on words… but its exactly that, so it works too well not to use.)

We'll be fighting in the streets
With our children at our feet
And the morals that they worship will be gone
And the men who spurred us on
Sit in judgment of all wrong
They decide and the shotgun sings the song
I'll tip my hat to the new constitution
Take a bow for the new revolution
Smile and grin at the change all around
Pick up my guitar and play
Just like yesterday
Then I'll get on my knees and pray
We don't get fooled again
The change, it had to come
We knew it all along
We were liberated from the fold, that's all
And the world looks just the same
And history ain't changed
'Cause the banners, they are flown in the next war
I'll tip my hat to the new constitution
Take a bow for the new revolution
Smile and grin at the change all around
Pick up my guitar and play
Just like yesterday
Then I'll get on my knees and pray
We don't get fooled again
Won't Get Fooled Again
No, no I'll move myself and my family aside
If we happen to be left half alive
I'll get all my papers and smile at the sky
Though I know that the hypnotized never lie
Do ya
There's nothing in the streets
Looks any different to me
And the slogans are replaced, by-the-by
And the parting on the left
Are now parting on the right
And the beards have all grown longer overnight
I'll tip my hat to the new constitution
Take a bow for the new revolution
Smile and grin at the change all around
Pick up my guitar and play
Just like yesterday
Then I'll get on my knees and pray
We don't get fooled again
Don't get fooled again
No, no Yeah
Meet the new boss
Same as the old boss

Bread and Circuses in Nepal

Many of us have been talking about it, but I am going to blog on it: why have there been no strikes/protests/demonstrations in Kathmandu while we have been here?

Every book and academic paper we studied about Nepal, everyone we spoke to who has been to Nepal, every news paper article we read before coming to Nepal, warned us that regular disruption due to bandhs, chakajams and julus was inevitable in Kathmandu. However, we have been in the capital for almost a month now and everything has been calm (relatively speaking).

And its not like there is any shortage of material to incite unrest. In the weeks leading up to our arrival, the city was paralysed for weeks by Maoist protests as the deadline for the promulgation of the constitution loomed. Of course, a deal was ultimately struck averting crisis, but its terms provide plenty of material justifying protest. First, the agreement was supposedly signed after the deadline had passed, meaning the body charged with drafting the constitution had already expired . Second, as part of the agreement the existing government, and in particular the Prime Minister Madhav Kumar Nepal, would resign – this still has not happened. But despite all this, daily life continues uninterrupted. Why?

While bread maybe in short supply in Nepal (with Kathmandu currently enduring a water shortage) our time in Kathmandu has coincided with the global circus that is the World Cup. Everyday two or three football matches are being broadcast into people’s homes, and when the electricity cuts out there, they can head to a local generator-driven bar. Every cab is sporting the flag of one nation or another, and discussing performances with their clients; people are proudly wearing the shirt of their favoured team. Is this quadrennial spectacle responsible for the smooth functioning of the city (relatively speaking)?

The test will come when the World Cup ends. It is concerning to think that there may be a backlog of unrest waiting to be realised. But if that is the case, at least this charismatic but overwhelming city allowed us to find our feet before showing us this other aspect of its personality.

Some musings

I just looked at the date and realized that in a month, we’ll basically be done here, and then I’ve got one more week in India and then I’m home.  I’ve been thinking a lot about home ever since I left it, missing people there and wondering how long two and a half months would feel.  So far it doesn’t feel too bad (I’m halfway through!) but now I’m wondering, will I have the same feelings when I get back home?  Will I sit there, wondering when I’ll get back to Nepal?

I already feel so at home here.  I have places to be, friends to spend time with, and I almost feel like I can navigate my way around (I’m still working on that last part).  If it weren’t for this strong pull from certain people back home, I would be content to stay here as long as I could.  I think the only thing lacking is a paying job.  I won’t miss having servants, and I plan to leave those behind as soon as possible (it’s frustrating to have to ask someone to get me a snack), but the other things I don’t think I can leave behind as easily.  I’ll miss seeing the city by cab and by foot, I’ll miss the excitement of going out and experiencing new places, I’ll miss desperately searching for places to watch the World Cup, I’ll miss all of the new experiences, I’ll even miss dal bhat.  Sometimes I think I’ll even miss haggling for shopping, for taxis.  There’s only two things I can think of that I won’t miss- spicy food (as I eat piro chow-chow right now) and creepy guys in Thamel trying to sell me hashish.

I think it’s going to be a weird adjustment to go back to New York.  I’m curious about what it’s going to be like.  I’m torn- I can’t wait to go home but I don’t want to leave here.

"Nepali Time"

OK, so prior to visiting Nepal we heard and joked very often about the concept of Nepali time, which amongst Black people we refer to as CP time or Colored People's time, meaning that if you ever attend an event that is being ran by Black people expect for it to start a half hour to an hour later than what they say. That's why whenever I have an event at my house and Black folk are attending I tell them 8 because I really want them there by 9, lol. So it seems as though Nepali's have this similar frame of thinking, which is cool by me. Now this isn't always true amongst Black folk, there's also a loop whole to this concept which in most cases there usually is and I'm beginning to find out that this loop whole also applies to Nepali's. So the loop whole is that when Black folk have an event and White people are the dominant participants things tend to start on time, maybe it's because we want to show that we're capable of it, it's just not our style. That's how I kinda feel about Nepali time here in Nepal, because whenever we've had events with Nepali's with just our group they have been pretty much on time. When I say we, I mean our group, which are representative of the "American way" I presume. So, I've been saying to myself, this concept of "Nepali time isn't true" maybe it's just a joke or something used to stereotype the people of Nepal. But then there have also been times when I have attended Nepal events outside of our group and without fail they have started 30 mins to an hour later than they were suppose to. Which got me thinking maybe there is some validity to this "Nepali Time" concept. So how can this dilemma be explained? I think the Nepali's have strived to be on time with us to show us that they too are capable of timeliness, it's just not their style. (Which on a side more conscience note leads me wondering why is it that some cultures feel the need to prove theme selves to Euro centric values/concepts as if it's the standard?, but that's an entirely separate blog, lol). Anyways maybe Nepali's are closer to Black folk than I originally thought. Maybe we can, all get along.

First Impressions

The thing about first impressions is that although it means first, meaning initial thought or experience at that moment, they are usually hasty and based off of preconceived notion., I've never been one for first impression that's because first impression for me more often than not tend to be bias anyways. I'm the type where it takes some time for me to warm up to something or someone, I rarely like something when I first encounter it, I usually have to listen to a song 2 or 3 times before I know whether I like it or not, that also goes with people and places. So although it's not possible not to have first impressions I try to keep an open mind. That being said, Nepal is not exactly how I had imagined it to be in my head. This partly could be because I have been living in Katmandu which is the city and capital of Katmandu, which is very different from rural Nepal. To be honest Katmandu Valley isn't much of a Valley at all which can come of as a bit deceiving. The area is over populated, polluted both on the ground and in the air, the streets are riddled with endless vehicles honking and whizzing by with little regard, the water is scarce and the lakes, rivers and streams are undrinkable for the most part. I walk down pot whole filled dirt roads to the smell of trash burning and scary stray dogs. I mean all of this was expected being that I have traveled to similar places such as in India, and also because Nepal is the 14th poorest country in the world, but the experience even if you've had it before is still eye opening. It's really hard to understand poverty and these conditions coming from the U.S. Upon seeing these conditions my first impression was to think that voyage that I had strived so hard to get be apart of may have been a mistake. Maybe I should have gone to Brazil, or Kosovo, or even stayed in New York or even Boston and had a care free summer spending it with friends and family. But then I think, I'm letting my first impression get the best of me. If anything Nepal is a lesson as well as a humbling experience. Things that I have complained about in the past don't seem as important as they once did. Also I began to realize that instead of focusing on the negative aspects of Nepal that there are also many positive aspects as well that surely will outweigh the bad. The potential wealth of knowledge that I can gain from being here and take back with me and share with others is and will be vast. The connections both with my fellow New School travelers as well as Nepali friends will be something that will last with me forever. Not to mention my own personal growth from the many experiences that I will encounter. So on second thought maybe I'll give this first impression thing another try.

The Long Voyage

Traveling from the West to the East is no small feat; much anticipation ensued following up to the big day of travel. Was I going to be able to swing this IFP thing, the sum of about $10,000 stood between me and a once in a lifetime opportunity. My father always taught me not to let money ever be a barrier from anything that I want to achieve in life. Through determination and a series of odd jobs that included an enumerator within the census and substitute teacher with a classroom of 30 3 year olds afforded me a ticket to Nepal, The rest was covered by Grad Plus (thank you government for paying for my education I promise that one day when I make it big that I'll pay it back, you could have hooked me up a bit better on the interest rate though, 7% is not exactly the best deal, Yet I digress). So leading up to the big day, I spent the time saying goodbye to friends via a Memorial Day cookout and sleepless nights followed by an all nighter of packing. I'm not one to pack more than a day before, keeps me on my toes. So the day had finally arrived, it was time to go, after countless days of preparation, waiting on student loans, research, papers, lectures, discussions and nepali lessons. Some people didn't think that I was going to be able to do it, partially including myself, but the time had come. The challenge was to get to Nepal by any means necessary and I had successfully completed it. Now I just had to make it to my flight on time, which was a whole ordeal in if of itself. The plan was to take a bus from Boston to NY Friday afternoon June 6th, then fly from NY to Frankfurt, Frankfurt to Delhi then from Delhi to Katmandu. Easy enough right? So 48 hours later, body piercings, a partial scare from a front desk attendant at airport regarding my visa or lack thereof, lots of roksi, terrible airplane food, long lines, flight delays, and layovers I finally made it to Katmandu Sunday morning, exhausted, hungry, hott!! Un-showered and everything else imaginable, but grateful. Bags in hand thinking I was headed to the hotel for some much needed R&R I ended up at an orientation meeting/lunch where the rest of my fellow classmates had been awaiting my arrival. Greeted by a white scarf from the director of the Nepal Institute of Development Studies our hosting organization and the rest of my comrades and professor, although it wasn't my hotel it was certainly the next best thing. Besides no time to sleep when you're in Nepal I can do that when I'm dead.

Water Shortage & Well Washing Festival

Water Shortage & Well Washing Festival by Keesler

While in Nepal for the summer my research project entails investigating the management of water here in the Kathmandu Valley. In this increasingly dense capital, there is more demand for water than there is supply. Defining factors that have led to the increased water crisis in the Kathmandu Valley in recent years include: an unchecked boom in population, urbanization and industrialization, a disregard to the over drawing of groundwater, and the pollution of river waters. Furthermore, having access to improved water sources does not mean that water is always available in sufficient quantity since many households do not receive a regular supply, particularly during the dry season. At present, the demand for water in Kathmandu is approximately 200 million liters per day but during the dry season, the water authority ‘Kathmandu Upatyaka Khanepani Limited’ (KUKL) can supply only 90 million liters per day (45%) and 120 million liters per day (60%) during the wet season (UN HABITAT, 2008). Even at my host family’s house and my fellow students’ host families, everyone is urged to take quick showers due to the water supply shortage.

On June 17^th, people of the Newari community around Kathmandu celebrated Sithi Nakha, which is a day for cleaning the wells, water sprouts, taps, and water pipes before the monsoon rains come. I was told that Kathmandu used to be a lake bed, and since water percolates through the walls of the wells, they need to be cleaned thoroughly so that the walls do not get cemented. The day June 17^th was chosen because that is when the water levels are the lowest. My group was able to go on a heritage walk around the district of Patan where I was able to take pictures of these wells before the Sithi Nakha festival.

According to the Kathmandu Post, the Newari community has demanded the government address water woes: “This day must be celebrated nationally to ease water shortage,” said Astman Kisi Maharjan, chairman of Youth Awareness Environmental Forum (YAFE). Speaking at a programme organised by YAFE in the Capital, Maharjan said the collective effort from every sectors will help manage drinking water.

While here I hope to disentangle the many actors and stakeholders within the management of water throughout the Kathmandu Valley. That includes looking into: public private partnerships (PPPs), community-based water supply systems, public companies registered under the Government of Nepal, the largely unregulated privately-owned water supply services, and the role of INGOs and NGOs. There has been an increasing need for effective management of the water supply systems within Kathmandu in order to provide water for all.

Boy do I have a lot on my plate for this summer….. =)