April 30, 2010
Today I left Kathmandu, and I can’t quite explain the tumult of emotions swirling through my head and keeping me from sleeping when I’m downright exhausted. I’ve finished all the goodbyes, so I think most of my tears have been cried and now there’s butterflies of excitement over seeing people I haven’t seen in 8 months! But while I’m excited for whatever’s next for me (God’s still bringing me through the mud on that one!), I can’t help but pray over the future of Nepal...
My last week in Nepal was filled with growing tensions between political parties as the deadline for completing their new constitution nears. The Maoists forced all the private schools in the country to close, in the name of “an unfair raise in tuition rates.” It was nice for me to have a lot of extra time to spend with the kids, but I couldn’t help but wonder when they’ll realize that these strikes just keep Nepal in the “developing” category. Those schools who chose to continue to educate the children who came to learn were visited by “peaceful” Maoists who beat the administrators until they closed the school or set school busses on fire (with no one on them, thankfully). I’m sorry, if you can’t tell, I’ve chosen sides in my time here so my story is a little biased.
Anyway, at the same time, the Maoists were running training camps for around 20,000 of their followers in the areas outside of Kathmandu, all in preparation for the largest protest of the government to occur on May 1. We’re talking military training with bamboo rods (which are incredibly strong and are what the riot police use to control demonstrations) and kukaris (these huge, curved knife sword things that instill fear in me just looking at them). Meanwhile, they continue to maintain that the protest on May 1 will be peaceful, and this training is merely for self defense. Right. Basically, if the Prime Minister hasn’t resigned by then (and as of 1 PM when I left Nepal on April 30 he hadn’t) they plan on overthrowing the government. I have to admit that I’m a little relieved that my flight was moved a day earlier. Maybe nothing will happen then, but there’s a lot of fear that this could be the brink of a new civil war.
With the military training and they mass protest at hand, many families along the border have fled to India as refuge in case this does escalate. The Maoists are demanding huge sums of money as a “donation” for their cause from businesses, schools, and even churches. If you fail to pay, you’re forced to provide some service for their cadres or face the risk of them fulfilling their threats. They’re using schools and churches in the Kathmandu area for “hotels” as they prepare for their protest. It’s hard to imagine stuff like that happening while sitting in the US and following world news, but, after living here, it’s become more than real. I think I better understand what’s going on in countries like Pakistan, Afghanistan, India and obviously Nepal. While the terror element was minimal here, the reality is that overnight the situation could explode.
Last night, between crying and laughing with the family at our own going away party, I told the kids that I am “confident that He who began a good work in them will carry it out to completion until the day of Christ Jesus,” stealing the words verbatum from Paul in Philippians chapter 1. I went on to explain that I couldn’t wait to see what God led them to do, whether pilots, doctors, nurses, teachers, missionaries, pastors, or even government officials. More and more I’m realizing the power of having Godly men and women in all areas of society, and I pray that God would raise up some of His servants to bring honesty, integrity, and the Truth to this broken nation. Of course, thinking about all the turmoil in the US government, I can’t help but have the same prayer over our nation. And it makes me really long for His kingdom to come!
Wednesday, May 12, 2010
Friday, April 23, 2010
Starting School... Nepali style!
April 23, 2010
While starting school in the US is an ordeal sealed with scouring ads for the best deals on crayons, glue, and spiral notebooks, here we don’t just have to buy supplies, but also all the school textbooks. After last school year, all the kids were required to “turn in” their books to me, which I managed nicely over the break. I then distributed them, and figured out which books were missing, meaning either we didn’t have enough or the school switched books for this year.
Fortunately, about 1/3 of the books were useable again, but that left a whole lot to buy! For instance, we had no books for Raju, as there were no kids in class 2 last year. Similarly, for class 6 I had to buy 2 full sets as we only had one class 6 student last year, Manisha, but this year we have three, Asha, Arun, and Bimala. To my relief, once kids reach classes 9 and 10, the school won’t change their books, but will phase them out with the next two year’s classes as to not introduce new curriculum right before their SLC exams (graduation exams that are standardized for the entire country; they must be passed before you can be considered a high school graduate).
If you’ve ever talked to a teacher or a college student or anyone school related who has anything to do with textbooks and purchasing them, you’ll quickly hear tales of how much money textbook companies must be making. I mean, some of my books in college were themselves over $200. But if you were wise, you bought used, traded with other students, or decided to share (meaning, only have the studying was necessary, obviously! probably not so good for GPA, but really nice on the pocketbook, especially when you share 4 ways ;)!). So, naturally, I suggested that some of the kids share books, so soften the blow of the textbook bill. They looked at me in appalled horror. “SHARE BOOKS?! Sister, you must be kidding! What if we sit across from each other in class?! What will we do then?” “Share with the person sitting next to you?!” was my logical reply. “NO! We’ll DIE if we have to share books!” “OK OK!”
So, after being persuaded that they could not share books as certain death awaited those who embarked upon that path, I carefully counted, recounted, and counted again the books we needed to purchase. I certainly didn’t want to purchase any extra books! The grand total?! Over 100 books. If you think about it, we buy books for 15 kids, each in a minimum of 8 classes, with the younger kids having more classes as their “fun” classes alternate days. And some classes require more than one book. Some require more than 2 books, and I’d like to have a talk with those teachers! No, I’m just kidding. But, when we got to the bookshop to purchase the books, I quickly realized that book publishers here must be making as much as American textbook publishers. I mean, most books were in the 200 rupee range, which is just under $3 in the US, but that’s a LOT of money for Nepalis (3 weeks worth of lunch for one child!), considering it’s just one book, and you probably needed a good 9 or 10 more for one student, even if they’re in class 2!
But, we sorted, counted, recounted, and counted again to make sure we weren’t paying for anything we weren’t getting, as some books were out of stock. When all was said and done, we ended up spending about 200 dollars on the books, and another 50 later on when we got the missing ones. Then we had to buy copies, their equivalent of spiral notebooks. And each kid needed double the number of copies as classes, one for classwork and one for homework (and their teachers really do require that; last year I was the only teacher who didn’t care where the work was as long as it was done. Some teachers won’t count or check work done in the wrong copy!). And at 30 rupees a pop (which is almost 50 cents each, way more than school sale spirals in the US, which were a mere 5 cents each last year, leading me to invest in hundreds for my students!), we weren’t about to buy that many copies unless we could buy them wholesale. So, Uncle called his printer friend (he has a lot of very useful friends considering he runs a children’s home!), who gave us a great deal on buying enough copies to last through the next millennium for one child, but will maybe last this year with our kids ;).
The last thing we had to do was cover EVERYTHING with thick paper or plastic. The teachers will scold and send kids out of the classroom for not neatly covering their books, so we sat down and covered them, one by one. With all the books and copies we used thousands of staples (literally, each copy requires 10 staples, and we had to cover about 300 of them, plus about 150 textbooks) and hundreds of feet of cover. I sat and tore book cover to the right size, dealing them out as fast as my hands could handle! Then, we had to tape all the corners and edges so the books wouldn’t “damage,” though they damage anyway. And Raju and Darshan (and actually, Laxman too, but he’ll hate me for saying so) don’t really know how to cover, so I covered their books myself, but they had to do the taping. Let me tell you, if you ever need books covered, I’m your girl!
My favorite school supplies to buy were their school boxes, though. I bought each one a new pencil box, which comes filled with a protractor, compass, small ruler, and triangular rulers. Then, because the eraser and sharpener which were included in the boxes don’t work at all, but rather break pencils and rip paper, I bought small erasers and sharpeners for each one, along with pens and pencils. The kids were way excited, and I required them to take their old pencil box home over the break and give it to a brother, sister or friend who needed a pencil box. We talked about how when God blesses us, it’s a chance for us to bless others as well since most of their boxes were still in pretty good shape but were just missing most of the included instruments (minus Raju’s, which looked like he used it for a soccer ball, then stepped on it a few times, then chewed it up and regurgitated it!). So next year, when you think of complaining about the rising costs in school supplies and everything, just remember, you probably don’t have to buy their books, spirals are cheaper there, and you’re probably not buying for 15 kids! But if you are, call me, and I’ll help you :).
While starting school in the US is an ordeal sealed with scouring ads for the best deals on crayons, glue, and spiral notebooks, here we don’t just have to buy supplies, but also all the school textbooks. After last school year, all the kids were required to “turn in” their books to me, which I managed nicely over the break. I then distributed them, and figured out which books were missing, meaning either we didn’t have enough or the school switched books for this year.
Fortunately, about 1/3 of the books were useable again, but that left a whole lot to buy! For instance, we had no books for Raju, as there were no kids in class 2 last year. Similarly, for class 6 I had to buy 2 full sets as we only had one class 6 student last year, Manisha, but this year we have three, Asha, Arun, and Bimala. To my relief, once kids reach classes 9 and 10, the school won’t change their books, but will phase them out with the next two year’s classes as to not introduce new curriculum right before their SLC exams (graduation exams that are standardized for the entire country; they must be passed before you can be considered a high school graduate).
If you’ve ever talked to a teacher or a college student or anyone school related who has anything to do with textbooks and purchasing them, you’ll quickly hear tales of how much money textbook companies must be making. I mean, some of my books in college were themselves over $200. But if you were wise, you bought used, traded with other students, or decided to share (meaning, only have the studying was necessary, obviously! probably not so good for GPA, but really nice on the pocketbook, especially when you share 4 ways ;)!). So, naturally, I suggested that some of the kids share books, so soften the blow of the textbook bill. They looked at me in appalled horror. “SHARE BOOKS?! Sister, you must be kidding! What if we sit across from each other in class?! What will we do then?” “Share with the person sitting next to you?!” was my logical reply. “NO! We’ll DIE if we have to share books!” “OK OK!”
So, after being persuaded that they could not share books as certain death awaited those who embarked upon that path, I carefully counted, recounted, and counted again the books we needed to purchase. I certainly didn’t want to purchase any extra books! The grand total?! Over 100 books. If you think about it, we buy books for 15 kids, each in a minimum of 8 classes, with the younger kids having more classes as their “fun” classes alternate days. And some classes require more than one book. Some require more than 2 books, and I’d like to have a talk with those teachers! No, I’m just kidding. But, when we got to the bookshop to purchase the books, I quickly realized that book publishers here must be making as much as American textbook publishers. I mean, most books were in the 200 rupee range, which is just under $3 in the US, but that’s a LOT of money for Nepalis (3 weeks worth of lunch for one child!), considering it’s just one book, and you probably needed a good 9 or 10 more for one student, even if they’re in class 2!
But, we sorted, counted, recounted, and counted again to make sure we weren’t paying for anything we weren’t getting, as some books were out of stock. When all was said and done, we ended up spending about 200 dollars on the books, and another 50 later on when we got the missing ones. Then we had to buy copies, their equivalent of spiral notebooks. And each kid needed double the number of copies as classes, one for classwork and one for homework (and their teachers really do require that; last year I was the only teacher who didn’t care where the work was as long as it was done. Some teachers won’t count or check work done in the wrong copy!). And at 30 rupees a pop (which is almost 50 cents each, way more than school sale spirals in the US, which were a mere 5 cents each last year, leading me to invest in hundreds for my students!), we weren’t about to buy that many copies unless we could buy them wholesale. So, Uncle called his printer friend (he has a lot of very useful friends considering he runs a children’s home!), who gave us a great deal on buying enough copies to last through the next millennium for one child, but will maybe last this year with our kids ;).
The last thing we had to do was cover EVERYTHING with thick paper or plastic. The teachers will scold and send kids out of the classroom for not neatly covering their books, so we sat down and covered them, one by one. With all the books and copies we used thousands of staples (literally, each copy requires 10 staples, and we had to cover about 300 of them, plus about 150 textbooks) and hundreds of feet of cover. I sat and tore book cover to the right size, dealing them out as fast as my hands could handle! Then, we had to tape all the corners and edges so the books wouldn’t “damage,” though they damage anyway. And Raju and Darshan (and actually, Laxman too, but he’ll hate me for saying so) don’t really know how to cover, so I covered their books myself, but they had to do the taping. Let me tell you, if you ever need books covered, I’m your girl!
My favorite school supplies to buy were their school boxes, though. I bought each one a new pencil box, which comes filled with a protractor, compass, small ruler, and triangular rulers. Then, because the eraser and sharpener which were included in the boxes don’t work at all, but rather break pencils and rip paper, I bought small erasers and sharpeners for each one, along with pens and pencils. The kids were way excited, and I required them to take their old pencil box home over the break and give it to a brother, sister or friend who needed a pencil box. We talked about how when God blesses us, it’s a chance for us to bless others as well since most of their boxes were still in pretty good shape but were just missing most of the included instruments (minus Raju’s, which looked like he used it for a soccer ball, then stepped on it a few times, then chewed it up and regurgitated it!). So next year, when you think of complaining about the rising costs in school supplies and everything, just remember, you probably don’t have to buy their books, spirals are cheaper there, and you’re probably not buying for 15 kids! But if you are, call me, and I’ll help you :).
Don't worry, I'll find my way home!
April 22, 2010
In the past few weeks I received a couple of packages of last minute things for me and the kids! As I’ve been feeling braver recently, I went by myself to claim them, even taking Micro-busses all on my own! The first package was a birthday gift from a friend in the US. She and I have very similar tastes in books, especially in Christian literature, and could spend hours talking about books while sitting on the floor at Hastings and thus disturbing others reading nearby in the overstuffed chairs! So, she sent me a book along with some other things, which was way exciting for me!
At customs, I opened the package, and proceeded to show the two officials standing there the contents. Now, one of the officials is this slightly creepy man who just kind of stares at me whenever I’m there. They both know me, though, as I’ve been there to pick up packages for the kids a number of times during my stay here. So, they were satisfied that what I had received wasn’t worth the paperwork, so they didn’t charge me anything, and the man turned and walked off. The lady had noticed that there was something else in the package, and she motioned for me to show her it. I showed her and she burst out laughing when she saw the simple unmentionables and realized that I wasn’t hiding things from them to save money, but rather out of what most Asians would see as rare Western modesty (trust me, they see all the movies and shows on TV which gives them a “great” picture of us!). She turned and walked away, still laughing to herself, and I gathered my gifts and headed out to catch the micro-bus back home.
Well, I’ve gotten more confident in asking for directions and busses, but I must have said something wrong this time. I asked for the bus that would take me to the area where we live, and the conductor nodded emphatically, motioning for me to hop on. I did, and immediately opened my book to start reading. The book is called “Searching for God Knows What” by Donald Miller, and while I wouldn’t agree with 100% of what he says, most of it I do, and he writes in an incredibly real, humorous way. I was literally laughing out loud on the bus as I read, probably more so because this was the first American “entertainment” I’d had in several months! Occasionally, I’d look out the window and think, wow, this doesn’t look so familiar, but I figured we were taking another way home.
Finally we stopped at the end of the line, and I dismounted my smoke spewing carriage and looked around at my surroundings. That’s when I realized I was indeed in a part of Kathmandu (maybe?!) that I had definitely never seen before. I kind of stood there, debating what to do next. Surprisingly, and this is how I know I’ve changed some in my time here, I wasn’t worried at all. I figured, hey, worst case scenario I have to call my parents to get Krishna’s phone number to call him to come rescue me. I know, stupid American not carrying any contact numbers with her. But I figured first I’d try some more micro-busses. To make sure I didn’t get on the wrong bus again, I asked for the larger area just a little bit east of us (I think it’s east... I’m occasionally directionally challenged!), to which another conductor nodded emphatically and said “Jam” meaning come. So, I hopped on, opened my book, and started reading again.
About 20 minutes later I looked up, and to my utter relief we were in familiar territory, though we were still about 10 minutes from home. We finally got there, and I hopped off, very very proud of myself for getting lost and unlost all by myself in a huge city where I only know the basics of communication! My next trip to pick up the final package at the general post office was so smooth, there’s really not much to tell :). The officials only charged me about a dollar in customs fees in exchange for a pack of gum for each of them! I’ve learned the system I guess you could say, though it is sad that they expect (and often require) bribery to claim packages... guess that’s the way the world goes though! Then, I made it home safely, all on my own, without any extra stops! And I gave directions to a girl from New York City who was lost and needed help. Of course, now that I think about it, I have no idea if she made it where she was going, but I think I told her the right bus to catch?! Or maybe I sent her somewhere unknown as well... I’m going to assume I gave her good directions and she made it safely to and from her destination. There you have it, I’m a native Nepali now!
In the past few weeks I received a couple of packages of last minute things for me and the kids! As I’ve been feeling braver recently, I went by myself to claim them, even taking Micro-busses all on my own! The first package was a birthday gift from a friend in the US. She and I have very similar tastes in books, especially in Christian literature, and could spend hours talking about books while sitting on the floor at Hastings and thus disturbing others reading nearby in the overstuffed chairs! So, she sent me a book along with some other things, which was way exciting for me!
At customs, I opened the package, and proceeded to show the two officials standing there the contents. Now, one of the officials is this slightly creepy man who just kind of stares at me whenever I’m there. They both know me, though, as I’ve been there to pick up packages for the kids a number of times during my stay here. So, they were satisfied that what I had received wasn’t worth the paperwork, so they didn’t charge me anything, and the man turned and walked off. The lady had noticed that there was something else in the package, and she motioned for me to show her it. I showed her and she burst out laughing when she saw the simple unmentionables and realized that I wasn’t hiding things from them to save money, but rather out of what most Asians would see as rare Western modesty (trust me, they see all the movies and shows on TV which gives them a “great” picture of us!). She turned and walked away, still laughing to herself, and I gathered my gifts and headed out to catch the micro-bus back home.
Well, I’ve gotten more confident in asking for directions and busses, but I must have said something wrong this time. I asked for the bus that would take me to the area where we live, and the conductor nodded emphatically, motioning for me to hop on. I did, and immediately opened my book to start reading. The book is called “Searching for God Knows What” by Donald Miller, and while I wouldn’t agree with 100% of what he says, most of it I do, and he writes in an incredibly real, humorous way. I was literally laughing out loud on the bus as I read, probably more so because this was the first American “entertainment” I’d had in several months! Occasionally, I’d look out the window and think, wow, this doesn’t look so familiar, but I figured we were taking another way home.
Finally we stopped at the end of the line, and I dismounted my smoke spewing carriage and looked around at my surroundings. That’s when I realized I was indeed in a part of Kathmandu (maybe?!) that I had definitely never seen before. I kind of stood there, debating what to do next. Surprisingly, and this is how I know I’ve changed some in my time here, I wasn’t worried at all. I figured, hey, worst case scenario I have to call my parents to get Krishna’s phone number to call him to come rescue me. I know, stupid American not carrying any contact numbers with her. But I figured first I’d try some more micro-busses. To make sure I didn’t get on the wrong bus again, I asked for the larger area just a little bit east of us (I think it’s east... I’m occasionally directionally challenged!), to which another conductor nodded emphatically and said “Jam” meaning come. So, I hopped on, opened my book, and started reading again.
About 20 minutes later I looked up, and to my utter relief we were in familiar territory, though we were still about 10 minutes from home. We finally got there, and I hopped off, very very proud of myself for getting lost and unlost all by myself in a huge city where I only know the basics of communication! My next trip to pick up the final package at the general post office was so smooth, there’s really not much to tell :). The officials only charged me about a dollar in customs fees in exchange for a pack of gum for each of them! I’ve learned the system I guess you could say, though it is sad that they expect (and often require) bribery to claim packages... guess that’s the way the world goes though! Then, I made it home safely, all on my own, without any extra stops! And I gave directions to a girl from New York City who was lost and needed help. Of course, now that I think about it, I have no idea if she made it where she was going, but I think I told her the right bus to catch?! Or maybe I sent her somewhere unknown as well... I’m going to assume I gave her good directions and she made it safely to and from her destination. There you have it, I’m a native Nepali now!
I think I could have been a philosopher...
April 17, 2010
Today, Sangita Miss called for me to come to her house and meet her family. She teaches English and Social Studies for classes 2-5 at Kantipurri, where I taught this past year. She also has a sister living in San Antonio, so she loved to talk to me about Texas and what it’s like there, and maybe one day when I get back to the US I’ll get to meet her sister!
Anyway, she, her son and her son’s friend came to pick me up on two motorcycles, which is something I’ll really miss in the US (among hundreds of other things here!). I really love riding through the city on the back of a motorcycle... for any interested males, take note (no, I’m just kidding... or am I?!)! We wove through another town in Lalitupur (I live in Talchikkhel, but there are about 14 other towns in the district of Lalitupur), mostly through ally like streets. About 25 minutes later we arrived at her house, a pretty 1st floor rented home in a really quiet area of Lalitupur.
When I went in, I met one of her other sisters, her daughter, and several other relatives! They all spoke English pretty well, which was really nice conversationally. She headed off to the kitchen to fix us a meal while I got acquainted with her family. We watched the start of some pretty gory English movie, and I have to admit that I was really glad when she walked back in with a photo album for me to look through. A few minutes later, they got tired of the movie, and to my silent thanks, they changed the channel to a cricket game, which was a little easier for me to stomach!
But the movie did open doors for some really good conversations with her kids as it led into talking about American culture and some of the realities in America vs. some of the misconceptions they have here. For instance, many Nepali’s believe since America’s developed we have no racial tensions or discrimination. We also got to talk about a lot of Nepali culture and the problems here, and it was really interesting to talk to two well educated (they’re both working on their masters- one in journalism and one in rural development) YOUNG people about the state of Nepal! Probably the most interesting to me was when we talked about the Nepali caste system. In Kathmandu, it’s pretty watered down as there’s a lot of western pressure here for everyone to be treated equally, and a lot of foreign aid to Nepal actually works to push for equal treatment of all people. However, in the rural areas the caste system is still very much in place, and people don’t cross caste lines. If you marry a lower caste, you become lower caste. There’s no moving up, no matter what you do. It the type of conversation that you’d picture in a collegiate coffee shop over a couple of cappuccinos or lattes!
After talking for about an hour, lunch was served, and it was really good, as usual! I was pretty excited because there was not rice and dahl involved, but rather spicy pickle, some of the best tasting chicken I’ve had here, some vegetables and homemade purie (lightly fried thick flour tortillas). We then talked about a lot of the differences in American food, and I was quite humored when they mentioned that they thought Nepal is becoming an obese nation. I told them to come to America and then they’ll know the truth :).
My favorite part of the afternoon, though, was when her son got out his guitar, and he and a friend sang a few songs. His friend is a professional djimbe player (Nepali style, or African, or wherever, bongos basically) and plays every night with his band at one of the fanciest hotels in Kathmandu. And they weren’t playing Nepali songs, though that would have been fine, but rather American hits like Coldplay, U2, and John Mayer (I requested that in memory of watching the “Bucket List” with my friends Katie, Brandee, and Phill... y’all remember that?!). It was a whole lot of fun, and made me want to learn more mainstream music, if only for the jamming possibilities! They had me play a couple of songs and I played 2 church ones. The professional djimbe player is also a Christian, so he appreciated them more, and while he didn’t sing along, he hummed the melodies either because he already knew them or because he must pick up music really fast!
When/if I move back overseas again, I’m going to do this way more often! I’m going to find a local university, and just talk to the students, because they’re the most likely to know English and be interested in talking. I’ve missed the friendship of other people my age so much this year, and that’s partly my fault for not taking some time to get out and meet people, but I have to admit I was too nervous to do much on my own outside the home for much of my time here. That and the whole parenting 15 kids thing! But today I was reminded that we were created for community, and sometimes we genuinely crave talking to other people who are “like” us in some way, and will challenge us. It felt like when I was in college, and my friends and I would talk for hours into the night, sometimes about true issues, sometimes about absolutely nothing, but we enjoyed each other’s company. And I know God uses that time, in His time, in His way! And with social networking websites like Facebook, I can keep up with new friends relatively easily, which is pretty cool considering I’m leaving in 2 weeks. So whether or not these friendships go deeper in the future or not, I really enjoyed the afternoon, and hope for more like them in the near future!
Today, Sangita Miss called for me to come to her house and meet her family. She teaches English and Social Studies for classes 2-5 at Kantipurri, where I taught this past year. She also has a sister living in San Antonio, so she loved to talk to me about Texas and what it’s like there, and maybe one day when I get back to the US I’ll get to meet her sister!
Anyway, she, her son and her son’s friend came to pick me up on two motorcycles, which is something I’ll really miss in the US (among hundreds of other things here!). I really love riding through the city on the back of a motorcycle... for any interested males, take note (no, I’m just kidding... or am I?!)! We wove through another town in Lalitupur (I live in Talchikkhel, but there are about 14 other towns in the district of Lalitupur), mostly through ally like streets. About 25 minutes later we arrived at her house, a pretty 1st floor rented home in a really quiet area of Lalitupur.
When I went in, I met one of her other sisters, her daughter, and several other relatives! They all spoke English pretty well, which was really nice conversationally. She headed off to the kitchen to fix us a meal while I got acquainted with her family. We watched the start of some pretty gory English movie, and I have to admit that I was really glad when she walked back in with a photo album for me to look through. A few minutes later, they got tired of the movie, and to my silent thanks, they changed the channel to a cricket game, which was a little easier for me to stomach!
But the movie did open doors for some really good conversations with her kids as it led into talking about American culture and some of the realities in America vs. some of the misconceptions they have here. For instance, many Nepali’s believe since America’s developed we have no racial tensions or discrimination. We also got to talk about a lot of Nepali culture and the problems here, and it was really interesting to talk to two well educated (they’re both working on their masters- one in journalism and one in rural development) YOUNG people about the state of Nepal! Probably the most interesting to me was when we talked about the Nepali caste system. In Kathmandu, it’s pretty watered down as there’s a lot of western pressure here for everyone to be treated equally, and a lot of foreign aid to Nepal actually works to push for equal treatment of all people. However, in the rural areas the caste system is still very much in place, and people don’t cross caste lines. If you marry a lower caste, you become lower caste. There’s no moving up, no matter what you do. It the type of conversation that you’d picture in a collegiate coffee shop over a couple of cappuccinos or lattes!
After talking for about an hour, lunch was served, and it was really good, as usual! I was pretty excited because there was not rice and dahl involved, but rather spicy pickle, some of the best tasting chicken I’ve had here, some vegetables and homemade purie (lightly fried thick flour tortillas). We then talked about a lot of the differences in American food, and I was quite humored when they mentioned that they thought Nepal is becoming an obese nation. I told them to come to America and then they’ll know the truth :).
My favorite part of the afternoon, though, was when her son got out his guitar, and he and a friend sang a few songs. His friend is a professional djimbe player (Nepali style, or African, or wherever, bongos basically) and plays every night with his band at one of the fanciest hotels in Kathmandu. And they weren’t playing Nepali songs, though that would have been fine, but rather American hits like Coldplay, U2, and John Mayer (I requested that in memory of watching the “Bucket List” with my friends Katie, Brandee, and Phill... y’all remember that?!). It was a whole lot of fun, and made me want to learn more mainstream music, if only for the jamming possibilities! They had me play a couple of songs and I played 2 church ones. The professional djimbe player is also a Christian, so he appreciated them more, and while he didn’t sing along, he hummed the melodies either because he already knew them or because he must pick up music really fast!
When/if I move back overseas again, I’m going to do this way more often! I’m going to find a local university, and just talk to the students, because they’re the most likely to know English and be interested in talking. I’ve missed the friendship of other people my age so much this year, and that’s partly my fault for not taking some time to get out and meet people, but I have to admit I was too nervous to do much on my own outside the home for much of my time here. That and the whole parenting 15 kids thing! But today I was reminded that we were created for community, and sometimes we genuinely crave talking to other people who are “like” us in some way, and will challenge us. It felt like when I was in college, and my friends and I would talk for hours into the night, sometimes about true issues, sometimes about absolutely nothing, but we enjoyed each other’s company. And I know God uses that time, in His time, in His way! And with social networking websites like Facebook, I can keep up with new friends relatively easily, which is pretty cool considering I’m leaving in 2 weeks. So whether or not these friendships go deeper in the future or not, I really enjoyed the afternoon, and hope for more like them in the near future!
Vacation time! Pokhara, here we come!
April 13, 2010
We went on a vacation to Pokhara, and it was quite the trip! To start, there were 7 of us piled in Uncle’s little, boxy child of an SUV. It seats 5 Asians easily, 5 Westerners maybe, and 7 people difficultly! So, Joshua road on Auntie’s lap the whole way, while Benjamin, Asha, Isha and I made due in the backseat. Let’s just say we all got to know each other better on the drive!
The drive wasn’t that bad though, even with being squished like sardines. The road was a little rough, and of course there’s always a risk of being knocked off the side of the lurking cliff, but besides that, the scenery was beautiful and we had fun. We stopped often, parking on the side of the road here or there to have a little snack of rice, dal, and these beans. It was the strangest picnic I’ve ever had, but it was tasty! We also stopped at this stop called the Hamlet, and they actually had full seat toilets (for those who have traveled in Asia, you know what you usually get... those squatting holes in the ground...).
When we finally got to Pokhara about 7 hours later, we found ourselves at a huge lake surrounded by looming mountains, late in the afternoon. We drove around, scoping out the best deal for a hotel for 2 nights, and we finally settled on one a stone’s throw from the lake! We spent a little time getting cleaned up, and to my excitement, the hotel had showers! One where I could stand up and the water would come out of a pierced pipe above my head. As this was my first “shower” in the 7 months that I’ve been here, I cannot fully describe the relaxing, enthralling effect it had on me. While it was a mere 10 minutes in the shower, it felt like an eternity!
After refreshing, we walked out to the lake for the sunset, which was absolutely beautiful! Watching the orange red glow twinkling over the gently rolling waters of the lake reminded me just how much detail God puts into those daily occurrences that we so rarely stop and appreciate! We went and ate dinner, and headed back to the hotel to sleep off the long day of traveling. When I laid down to read, though, I looked at the wall, and there, hovering a few feet from my bed midway up the wall, was a gigantic, ginormous, garganchuine cockroach, waiting for me to fall asleep so it could feast on my toes throughout the night. I sprang up like a Jack-in-the-Box wound just a little too tightly, causing a stir in my roommates, Isha and Asha.
Screaming immediately ensued (I’m sure some of y’all heard it in the US), followed by rapid jumping across the beds, trying to smash the thing with my shoes. Shoes were flying, our three twin sized beds were creaking as we bounded to and fro on them, relentlessly pursuing him until he died, knowing that we couldn’t sleep until he was dead, not just out of sight! Finally, Asha dealt the crushing blow, with a sickening crunchy squish as his guts splattered all over the floor. I checked to make sure he was really dead and not just pretending so he could arise and eat us at night, and measured him out to the length of my middle finger. That is one big cockroach. We finally drifted off to sleep, praying fiercely that no other bugs were waiting to nibble at us during the night!
The next morning, we woke up and had a breakfast of rice and curry, and then we headed out to “see the sights.” We went to Devi’s Falls, a river that’s cut so far down in the ground you can hardly see it. At one point there’s this huge waterfall where it plummets even further down into the Earth’s crust, and apparently some guy named Devi once jumped off it, so it’s now called Devi’s Falls. It was pretty, and made me really want to swim! We then loaded back into the car and headed up the mountainside to see the view of Pokhara from the top. There were so many Parasailers jumping off the mountain, one by one, only to float to the ground like the seeds of a dandelion in the wind. Really, they had some sort of good business going there, because one would leave the mountain every 5 minutes or so (I actually timed them because I’m a dorky math person!). Uncle asked me if I wanted to go, and if it hadn’t cost so much, I might have gone. But, on second thought, if I go parasailing, I want to do it with someone I know (as in, my dad!). So, we turned and headed back down the mountain, leaving those gutsy tourists in our dust (literally!).
On our way down, we stopped at the Seto-Collah, meaning the White River. In the US we have Red Rivers, Verde Rivers, and I’m sure there are other colored rivers. But this White River was literally white. The water was like milk flowing through a huge trough, waiting to be consumed by thirsty football playing boys! You couldn’t see anything in it, and it was flowing fast and strong. It wasn’t even like dirt was just stirred up in it. The water was literally white. I’m sure there’s some chemical reason for the white reason, but they say it comes out of the mountains like that. I think the mountains might be sick. But it was really cool looking, not at all dirty looking!
Our final stop was at my request: we rented a wooden canoe like boat and hired a driver and paddled out into the lake! It was by far my favorite part of the trip. Had I not been in jeans and my favorite kotessera top, I might have actually jumped in the lake. The kids were FREAKING out, which is somewhat understandable when you consider the largest river most of them have ever been in is the one where we wash clothes, which is like a piece embroidery string compared to a California king sized comforter! Eventually they settled in and realized we were going to be fine, but Isha was still pretty nervous. Especially when Uncle grabbed the other paddle and began paddling himself, causing the boat to rock a little more. The driver didn’t care, but Isha was sure we were all going to die immediately, and her knuckles were pure white as they gripped the side of the boat. To her relief, we only went out for about 45 minutes, so we were soon back on solid ground. And while I don’t expect that she’ll ever want to go back out on a boat, I was glad that she had the experience under her belt now :).
After dinner that night, Uncle and Auntie surprised me with a cake for my birthday from a local German bakery. There’s a lot of German bakeries around, which is surprising to me! But the cake was really good, and it was fun to celebrate with them. We went to bed, closing the door on our Pokhara adventures. A worthwhile adventure, fast as it was! And one day, maybe I’ll go back with a friend and go Parasailing... or maybe not :).
We went on a vacation to Pokhara, and it was quite the trip! To start, there were 7 of us piled in Uncle’s little, boxy child of an SUV. It seats 5 Asians easily, 5 Westerners maybe, and 7 people difficultly! So, Joshua road on Auntie’s lap the whole way, while Benjamin, Asha, Isha and I made due in the backseat. Let’s just say we all got to know each other better on the drive!
The drive wasn’t that bad though, even with being squished like sardines. The road was a little rough, and of course there’s always a risk of being knocked off the side of the lurking cliff, but besides that, the scenery was beautiful and we had fun. We stopped often, parking on the side of the road here or there to have a little snack of rice, dal, and these beans. It was the strangest picnic I’ve ever had, but it was tasty! We also stopped at this stop called the Hamlet, and they actually had full seat toilets (for those who have traveled in Asia, you know what you usually get... those squatting holes in the ground...).
When we finally got to Pokhara about 7 hours later, we found ourselves at a huge lake surrounded by looming mountains, late in the afternoon. We drove around, scoping out the best deal for a hotel for 2 nights, and we finally settled on one a stone’s throw from the lake! We spent a little time getting cleaned up, and to my excitement, the hotel had showers! One where I could stand up and the water would come out of a pierced pipe above my head. As this was my first “shower” in the 7 months that I’ve been here, I cannot fully describe the relaxing, enthralling effect it had on me. While it was a mere 10 minutes in the shower, it felt like an eternity!
After refreshing, we walked out to the lake for the sunset, which was absolutely beautiful! Watching the orange red glow twinkling over the gently rolling waters of the lake reminded me just how much detail God puts into those daily occurrences that we so rarely stop and appreciate! We went and ate dinner, and headed back to the hotel to sleep off the long day of traveling. When I laid down to read, though, I looked at the wall, and there, hovering a few feet from my bed midway up the wall, was a gigantic, ginormous, garganchuine cockroach, waiting for me to fall asleep so it could feast on my toes throughout the night. I sprang up like a Jack-in-the-Box wound just a little too tightly, causing a stir in my roommates, Isha and Asha.
Screaming immediately ensued (I’m sure some of y’all heard it in the US), followed by rapid jumping across the beds, trying to smash the thing with my shoes. Shoes were flying, our three twin sized beds were creaking as we bounded to and fro on them, relentlessly pursuing him until he died, knowing that we couldn’t sleep until he was dead, not just out of sight! Finally, Asha dealt the crushing blow, with a sickening crunchy squish as his guts splattered all over the floor. I checked to make sure he was really dead and not just pretending so he could arise and eat us at night, and measured him out to the length of my middle finger. That is one big cockroach. We finally drifted off to sleep, praying fiercely that no other bugs were waiting to nibble at us during the night!
The next morning, we woke up and had a breakfast of rice and curry, and then we headed out to “see the sights.” We went to Devi’s Falls, a river that’s cut so far down in the ground you can hardly see it. At one point there’s this huge waterfall where it plummets even further down into the Earth’s crust, and apparently some guy named Devi once jumped off it, so it’s now called Devi’s Falls. It was pretty, and made me really want to swim! We then loaded back into the car and headed up the mountainside to see the view of Pokhara from the top. There were so many Parasailers jumping off the mountain, one by one, only to float to the ground like the seeds of a dandelion in the wind. Really, they had some sort of good business going there, because one would leave the mountain every 5 minutes or so (I actually timed them because I’m a dorky math person!). Uncle asked me if I wanted to go, and if it hadn’t cost so much, I might have gone. But, on second thought, if I go parasailing, I want to do it with someone I know (as in, my dad!). So, we turned and headed back down the mountain, leaving those gutsy tourists in our dust (literally!).
On our way down, we stopped at the Seto-Collah, meaning the White River. In the US we have Red Rivers, Verde Rivers, and I’m sure there are other colored rivers. But this White River was literally white. The water was like milk flowing through a huge trough, waiting to be consumed by thirsty football playing boys! You couldn’t see anything in it, and it was flowing fast and strong. It wasn’t even like dirt was just stirred up in it. The water was literally white. I’m sure there’s some chemical reason for the white reason, but they say it comes out of the mountains like that. I think the mountains might be sick. But it was really cool looking, not at all dirty looking!
Our final stop was at my request: we rented a wooden canoe like boat and hired a driver and paddled out into the lake! It was by far my favorite part of the trip. Had I not been in jeans and my favorite kotessera top, I might have actually jumped in the lake. The kids were FREAKING out, which is somewhat understandable when you consider the largest river most of them have ever been in is the one where we wash clothes, which is like a piece embroidery string compared to a California king sized comforter! Eventually they settled in and realized we were going to be fine, but Isha was still pretty nervous. Especially when Uncle grabbed the other paddle and began paddling himself, causing the boat to rock a little more. The driver didn’t care, but Isha was sure we were all going to die immediately, and her knuckles were pure white as they gripped the side of the boat. To her relief, we only went out for about 45 minutes, so we were soon back on solid ground. And while I don’t expect that she’ll ever want to go back out on a boat, I was glad that she had the experience under her belt now :).
After dinner that night, Uncle and Auntie surprised me with a cake for my birthday from a local German bakery. There’s a lot of German bakeries around, which is surprising to me! But the cake was really good, and it was fun to celebrate with them. We went to bed, closing the door on our Pokhara adventures. A worthwhile adventure, fast as it was! And one day, maybe I’ll go back with a friend and go Parasailing... or maybe not :).
Sunday, April 18, 2010
Amazed at Creation
April 10, 2010
I might have become a romantic in my time here. I love gazing out over the mountains and just thinking, “wow. I serve one amazingly creative God!” Or to see the sun set over them, creating a red/orange/purple glow across the sky. Maybe it’s because life is so much slower here (for the most part!), but I’ve found myself stopping to notice those little things in nature that inherently reflect God’s nature.
One time while I was sitting outside, I saw a small dead frog sitting on the driveway. I didn’t think much of it, until it began to move a few minutes later. Either frogs could rise from the dead, or something incredibly strange was happening. I walked over and looked closely, and there were hundreds of ants carrying it. I’m not even kidding. They surrounded it as if it was a dignified funeral procession, and they began to carry it. I don’t know why... I don’t think ants eat frogs, but maybe these ones do. Or maybe they were just laying it in a more respectful final resting place. Regardless, I was enthralled, and watched them for about 10 minutes before leaving. To think that ants, who were hundreds of times smaller than this frog, would work together in unison to carry something hundreds of times their weight boggled my mind!
Then there are the butterflies. I’m totally convinced that they are a perfect gift from God, reminding us of His beauty. I mean, as far as I know, they cause harm to nothing, and yet they capture my mind with their delicate dancing across the sky, patiently flickering here and there. Their intricately detailed wings splashed with color reflect the design of a Creator showcasing His creativity! Sometimes I’ll see two of them together, and I’m convinced that we learned to dance from them with their perfect rhythm and grace.
On the other end of the scale are the “holy” cows. They’re often splashed with red on their foreheads, but I can’t blame them for that, because they have no control over what people do to them. But to watch them move lethargically, seemingly without a care in the world, protecting their young, well, it’s peaceful. I like to watch them eat grass; they don’t rush, they find a nice spot, and then deliberately eat, chewing each mouthful over and over before moving on. Of course, here, they’re safe from a deliberate killing as they’re “holy,” so, they really don’t have a lot to worry about.
I figure when I get back to the US, I’ll go back to a faster paced way of life, but sometimes I’ll have to stop and look at God in the world He created. I want to learn to dance from the butterflies and slow down and enjoy life like the cows do. But sometimes, I just like to watch the ants.
I might have become a romantic in my time here. I love gazing out over the mountains and just thinking, “wow. I serve one amazingly creative God!” Or to see the sun set over them, creating a red/orange/purple glow across the sky. Maybe it’s because life is so much slower here (for the most part!), but I’ve found myself stopping to notice those little things in nature that inherently reflect God’s nature.
One time while I was sitting outside, I saw a small dead frog sitting on the driveway. I didn’t think much of it, until it began to move a few minutes later. Either frogs could rise from the dead, or something incredibly strange was happening. I walked over and looked closely, and there were hundreds of ants carrying it. I’m not even kidding. They surrounded it as if it was a dignified funeral procession, and they began to carry it. I don’t know why... I don’t think ants eat frogs, but maybe these ones do. Or maybe they were just laying it in a more respectful final resting place. Regardless, I was enthralled, and watched them for about 10 minutes before leaving. To think that ants, who were hundreds of times smaller than this frog, would work together in unison to carry something hundreds of times their weight boggled my mind!
Then there are the butterflies. I’m totally convinced that they are a perfect gift from God, reminding us of His beauty. I mean, as far as I know, they cause harm to nothing, and yet they capture my mind with their delicate dancing across the sky, patiently flickering here and there. Their intricately detailed wings splashed with color reflect the design of a Creator showcasing His creativity! Sometimes I’ll see two of them together, and I’m convinced that we learned to dance from them with their perfect rhythm and grace.
On the other end of the scale are the “holy” cows. They’re often splashed with red on their foreheads, but I can’t blame them for that, because they have no control over what people do to them. But to watch them move lethargically, seemingly without a care in the world, protecting their young, well, it’s peaceful. I like to watch them eat grass; they don’t rush, they find a nice spot, and then deliberately eat, chewing each mouthful over and over before moving on. Of course, here, they’re safe from a deliberate killing as they’re “holy,” so, they really don’t have a lot to worry about.
I figure when I get back to the US, I’ll go back to a faster paced way of life, but sometimes I’ll have to stop and look at God in the world He created. I want to learn to dance from the butterflies and slow down and enjoy life like the cows do. But sometimes, I just like to watch the ants.
It's all of God's children singing glory, glory, hallelujah He reigns!
April 8, 2010
Some days you know God has sent you someone special, someone to remind you of your purpose and your work here on Earth. Sometimes they’re people you know, but here I’ve found that just as often they’re complete strangers, just passing through my life, making me wonder if I’ve unwittingly entertained angels! Angel or not, these are the people who get me through day in and out! They’re the body of Christ!
Today, we started painting the upper part of the fence around the house. It’s iron with these spikes on top to keep thieves at bay, with criss-crossing rebar creating a battleship grid on top of the brick wall. It comes in panels my arm span long (think, 5’5” arm span, give or take a few inches!) with these thick, javelin like posts in between them. It was starting to rust, so we had to prime the whole darn thing, and then go back and paint it a beautifully rich black.
Now, understand that we were doing this just 3 days after painting the majority of the common areas in the house white. A 3 day project that ended on a 9 hour note! So, our arms were ready for the swiping paint action. Yesterday, we took steel brushes to get off all the flaking paint, and this morning Shiva and I began priming the fence around 6:30am. Slowly, the reddened black fence began to turn white. About 2 hours later we were finished, just in time for my tutoring session with some kids from another hostel and then the English class I’m teaching at church. Never let anyone fool you: breaks aren’t always slow!
After returning home a few hours later, Uncle mixed the black paint for Shiva and I, and we began coating the fence. Painting rebar strand by strand is like dipping each piece of spaghetti into the sauce, one at a time with your hands. Long, tedious, and everybody involved gets sauced! So, we called Asha and Isha to help, but, they have the attention span of a mosquito and were incredibly concerned about getting paint on themselves (they were appalled at how speckled I was!). So, Shiva and I worked on it awhile more, and then Shiva said to leave it for the morning. Well, I was on a roll with my iPod in one ear, swiping to the likes of Jimmy Needham, tobyMac, Sanctus Real, and Natalie Grant, while I listened for kids fighting with the other. In terms of multi-focusing, I’m so ready for parenthood!
Well, I was singing along to myself, when suddenly I heard from the other side of the fence, “Pardon me, but could you use some help?!” I looked up startled, made sure I didn’t fall of the chair I was standing on in my surprise, only to see a kind, brown-haired light-skinned lady standing there looking at me. My first inclination was to say, “No, I’ve got it handled” but she had something about her that made me say, “Sure, if you really want to!” She told me that she had seen me in the morning and wanted to come out, but she was busy until now. I handed her a brush, and she introduced herself as Violetia from Brazil. I introduced myself and asked how she had come to Nepal. She hesitated only a moment before saying, “Well, I am a Christian and I felt Jesus was calling me to come here.” A huge smile broke across my face as she glanced at me to see my reaction and I replied, “We’re Christians too!” Excitement broke across her face as I explained that this is a Christian run children’s home.
We talked for the better part of another hour painting, bouncing questions off each other. She’s in her late 50s, though she looks much younger. She also looks so familiar to me. One of those deja’vu things where you want to say “have we met before?” but you know the answer is no. She’s got several siblings in Brazil along with her younger daughter, who’s 23. Her older daughter is 32 and lives here with her in Nepal. She’s just here to help wherever she can. If she sees someone who might need help, she asks if she can help.
She came to Nepal last year and spent 7 months here before returning to Brazil for a few months. When she came, she knew almost no English or Nepali, and communicated using facial expressions and her hands. Now, she speaks incredibly clear English and understood everything I said! She’s currently taking a class in Nepali and attends a church a little ways down the road. I asked her about her future plans, but she merely smiled and said, “I’m ready to stay or go whenever Jesus tells me to stay or go.”
I’ve been trying to teach the kids to serve, and they really are getting better about it, but she was an incredible example of selfless service and love for the kids today. They looked on in awe and wonder at this woman who would walk to a home of people she’d never met before and ask if she could help them with their work. And I was so encouraged by her faith: a faith that took her from her home to a land where she couldn’t speak or understand what was said just to find people to help. It makes me think of how many times I’ve wasted opportunities to serve right at home: helping an elderly person with their groceries, helping a neighbor with yard work, or helping a stranger paint! And It made me so thankful that God’s moving all over the world! I mean, what are the chances of a 57 year old Brazilian woman bumping into a 23 year old American girl (I still don’t feel like a grown up!) in the valleys of Nepal?! I guess 100% when you serve a God like mine!
As I bathed in kerosene later on (it’s the only way this paint will come off your skin... good thing I don’t smoke!) I couldn’t help but smile to myself and hum the tune of “He Reigns” by the Newsboys. It’s opening verse goes like this:
“It’s the song of the redeemed rising from the African plains. It’s the song of the forgiven drowning out the Amazon rain. The song of Asian believers filled with God’s holy fire. It’s every tribe, every tongue, every nation, a love song born of a grateful choir! It’s all of God’s children singing Glory, Glory, Hallelujah He reigns!”
My God is not limited by man-made country boundaries or languages or money or time or anything. He goes where He wants and does what He wants and moves people like chess pieces until the “powers of darkness tremble at what they’ve just heard!” Because this is what life is about. People from every tribe, every tongue, every nation praising Jesus, serving each other and loving the world. And I so want to be in the middle of that, every single day for the rest of my life!
Some days you know God has sent you someone special, someone to remind you of your purpose and your work here on Earth. Sometimes they’re people you know, but here I’ve found that just as often they’re complete strangers, just passing through my life, making me wonder if I’ve unwittingly entertained angels! Angel or not, these are the people who get me through day in and out! They’re the body of Christ!
Today, we started painting the upper part of the fence around the house. It’s iron with these spikes on top to keep thieves at bay, with criss-crossing rebar creating a battleship grid on top of the brick wall. It comes in panels my arm span long (think, 5’5” arm span, give or take a few inches!) with these thick, javelin like posts in between them. It was starting to rust, so we had to prime the whole darn thing, and then go back and paint it a beautifully rich black.
Now, understand that we were doing this just 3 days after painting the majority of the common areas in the house white. A 3 day project that ended on a 9 hour note! So, our arms were ready for the swiping paint action. Yesterday, we took steel brushes to get off all the flaking paint, and this morning Shiva and I began priming the fence around 6:30am. Slowly, the reddened black fence began to turn white. About 2 hours later we were finished, just in time for my tutoring session with some kids from another hostel and then the English class I’m teaching at church. Never let anyone fool you: breaks aren’t always slow!
After returning home a few hours later, Uncle mixed the black paint for Shiva and I, and we began coating the fence. Painting rebar strand by strand is like dipping each piece of spaghetti into the sauce, one at a time with your hands. Long, tedious, and everybody involved gets sauced! So, we called Asha and Isha to help, but, they have the attention span of a mosquito and were incredibly concerned about getting paint on themselves (they were appalled at how speckled I was!). So, Shiva and I worked on it awhile more, and then Shiva said to leave it for the morning. Well, I was on a roll with my iPod in one ear, swiping to the likes of Jimmy Needham, tobyMac, Sanctus Real, and Natalie Grant, while I listened for kids fighting with the other. In terms of multi-focusing, I’m so ready for parenthood!
Well, I was singing along to myself, when suddenly I heard from the other side of the fence, “Pardon me, but could you use some help?!” I looked up startled, made sure I didn’t fall of the chair I was standing on in my surprise, only to see a kind, brown-haired light-skinned lady standing there looking at me. My first inclination was to say, “No, I’ve got it handled” but she had something about her that made me say, “Sure, if you really want to!” She told me that she had seen me in the morning and wanted to come out, but she was busy until now. I handed her a brush, and she introduced herself as Violetia from Brazil. I introduced myself and asked how she had come to Nepal. She hesitated only a moment before saying, “Well, I am a Christian and I felt Jesus was calling me to come here.” A huge smile broke across my face as she glanced at me to see my reaction and I replied, “We’re Christians too!” Excitement broke across her face as I explained that this is a Christian run children’s home.
We talked for the better part of another hour painting, bouncing questions off each other. She’s in her late 50s, though she looks much younger. She also looks so familiar to me. One of those deja’vu things where you want to say “have we met before?” but you know the answer is no. She’s got several siblings in Brazil along with her younger daughter, who’s 23. Her older daughter is 32 and lives here with her in Nepal. She’s just here to help wherever she can. If she sees someone who might need help, she asks if she can help.
She came to Nepal last year and spent 7 months here before returning to Brazil for a few months. When she came, she knew almost no English or Nepali, and communicated using facial expressions and her hands. Now, she speaks incredibly clear English and understood everything I said! She’s currently taking a class in Nepali and attends a church a little ways down the road. I asked her about her future plans, but she merely smiled and said, “I’m ready to stay or go whenever Jesus tells me to stay or go.”
I’ve been trying to teach the kids to serve, and they really are getting better about it, but she was an incredible example of selfless service and love for the kids today. They looked on in awe and wonder at this woman who would walk to a home of people she’d never met before and ask if she could help them with their work. And I was so encouraged by her faith: a faith that took her from her home to a land where she couldn’t speak or understand what was said just to find people to help. It makes me think of how many times I’ve wasted opportunities to serve right at home: helping an elderly person with their groceries, helping a neighbor with yard work, or helping a stranger paint! And It made me so thankful that God’s moving all over the world! I mean, what are the chances of a 57 year old Brazilian woman bumping into a 23 year old American girl (I still don’t feel like a grown up!) in the valleys of Nepal?! I guess 100% when you serve a God like mine!
As I bathed in kerosene later on (it’s the only way this paint will come off your skin... good thing I don’t smoke!) I couldn’t help but smile to myself and hum the tune of “He Reigns” by the Newsboys. It’s opening verse goes like this:
“It’s the song of the redeemed rising from the African plains. It’s the song of the forgiven drowning out the Amazon rain. The song of Asian believers filled with God’s holy fire. It’s every tribe, every tongue, every nation, a love song born of a grateful choir! It’s all of God’s children singing Glory, Glory, Hallelujah He reigns!”
My God is not limited by man-made country boundaries or languages or money or time or anything. He goes where He wants and does what He wants and moves people like chess pieces until the “powers of darkness tremble at what they’ve just heard!” Because this is what life is about. People from every tribe, every tongue, every nation praising Jesus, serving each other and loving the world. And I so want to be in the middle of that, every single day for the rest of my life!
Easter Sunday Parade!
April 4, 2010
While I’ve been here, I’ve seen so many instances of the Maoists, Nepali Congress, and other people striking or picketing in the streets. I had never seen the Christians cause a commotion, until today...
Easter Sunday started with a 5:30 church service at the church. We sang a few songs, read a passage of Scripture, and had boiled eggs and pastries for breakfast. It was a relatively short service, and since our usual services are on Saturday, there weren’t many people there (that and the fact that when you have church and the sun hasn’t begun to come up yet, well, that’s early!). We finished, and about 6:45 we walked out to the main road with “Happy Easter,” “He is Risen,” and a number of other signs in our hands. We also had a big banner which two people carried in the front, a lot like those ones football teams run through before their games!
We began to walk down the street in a pack, and soon other churches were joining us. There were grandparents and children, songs and dancing, speakers and microphones. All while walking down the street! I knew our final destination, Ratna Park, but I had no idea how we were going to get there. Well, soon, our one church march down the street became 3, then 5, then 25, then beyond counting! The police were out in full force, making sure no one got hit on the streets while pedestrians looked on in bewilderment. Usually when people walk down the street holding picketing signs, they’re angry about something. But this time, they weren’t at all.
Some churches joined forces all singing the same songs together, some chanted about Jesus being risen, some did friendly competitions with singing to see who could sing louder. Most danced (while walking... pretty amazing, I know!), jumped, shouted, and beamed with joy. Tracts flew from hands, overwhelming those out for their ordinary morning duties. Who are these abundantly joyful people? Why are they so happy? Why are there THOUSANDS of them walking down our streets? Where are they going?
People took photos, shot videos, called relatives and asked us, “Why are you walking down the streets singing?!” And the joyous answer they received was simple, “Jesus is risen and we are saved!” Now, I wasn’t there on Palm Sunday, but I think I have a better understanding of what happened then after seeing the streets of Kathmandu on Easter. Back then I’m sure there were people questioning about the commotion, people dancing, people shouting “Hosanna!” Except for one huge difference: we were celebrating a risen Savior, one who has already conquered over death, and sits enthroned in heaven, while they were celebrating a future Savior, one who was about to face death, and sat on a donkey.
Somehow, it seemed so right: for once, the Christians had effectively stopped traffic across the city, on some of the busiest roads! But we weren’t angry, protesting, or even picketing. We were just celebrating our Risen King. Once we reached Ratna Park, the multitudes streamed in, while a huge praise team on the concrete stage to the side led in worship. I don’t know that I’ve ever felt so connected to Christ on Easter. They were singing hymns in Nepali, but I knew almost all of the English words to the same songs. To be able to sing Christ’s praises with about 95% of the Christians in Kathmandu was amazing! And I know one day we’ll all do the same thing in heaven :).
While I’ve been here, I’ve seen so many instances of the Maoists, Nepali Congress, and other people striking or picketing in the streets. I had never seen the Christians cause a commotion, until today...
Easter Sunday started with a 5:30 church service at the church. We sang a few songs, read a passage of Scripture, and had boiled eggs and pastries for breakfast. It was a relatively short service, and since our usual services are on Saturday, there weren’t many people there (that and the fact that when you have church and the sun hasn’t begun to come up yet, well, that’s early!). We finished, and about 6:45 we walked out to the main road with “Happy Easter,” “He is Risen,” and a number of other signs in our hands. We also had a big banner which two people carried in the front, a lot like those ones football teams run through before their games!
We began to walk down the street in a pack, and soon other churches were joining us. There were grandparents and children, songs and dancing, speakers and microphones. All while walking down the street! I knew our final destination, Ratna Park, but I had no idea how we were going to get there. Well, soon, our one church march down the street became 3, then 5, then 25, then beyond counting! The police were out in full force, making sure no one got hit on the streets while pedestrians looked on in bewilderment. Usually when people walk down the street holding picketing signs, they’re angry about something. But this time, they weren’t at all.
Some churches joined forces all singing the same songs together, some chanted about Jesus being risen, some did friendly competitions with singing to see who could sing louder. Most danced (while walking... pretty amazing, I know!), jumped, shouted, and beamed with joy. Tracts flew from hands, overwhelming those out for their ordinary morning duties. Who are these abundantly joyful people? Why are they so happy? Why are there THOUSANDS of them walking down our streets? Where are they going?
People took photos, shot videos, called relatives and asked us, “Why are you walking down the streets singing?!” And the joyous answer they received was simple, “Jesus is risen and we are saved!” Now, I wasn’t there on Palm Sunday, but I think I have a better understanding of what happened then after seeing the streets of Kathmandu on Easter. Back then I’m sure there were people questioning about the commotion, people dancing, people shouting “Hosanna!” Except for one huge difference: we were celebrating a risen Savior, one who has already conquered over death, and sits enthroned in heaven, while they were celebrating a future Savior, one who was about to face death, and sat on a donkey.
Somehow, it seemed so right: for once, the Christians had effectively stopped traffic across the city, on some of the busiest roads! But we weren’t angry, protesting, or even picketing. We were just celebrating our Risen King. Once we reached Ratna Park, the multitudes streamed in, while a huge praise team on the concrete stage to the side led in worship. I don’t know that I’ve ever felt so connected to Christ on Easter. They were singing hymns in Nepali, but I knew almost all of the English words to the same songs. To be able to sing Christ’s praises with about 95% of the Christians in Kathmandu was amazing! And I know one day we’ll all do the same thing in heaven :).
Wednesday, April 7, 2010
Party like its... Kathmandu, Nepal!
March 26, 2010
Katching, katching... clunk, clunk! One by one the kids came home from school, medals encircling their necks, certificates consuming their hands, smiles overwhelming their faces. I might not have the most academically strong students, but I’ve got an athletic bunch! I think the grand total was 19 medals from sports day at school, and that was for only 13 kids! An impressive number, one that surprised the other teachers! So, I told the kids on the last day of school we would have a party to celebrate...
After we finished school on the last day of school, we all headed home, bound for an incredibly busy afternoon and evening! First, we went out to the river to wash clothes. Lots and lots of school clothes so that when they get back after break all their clothes will be clean and ready to go. Not to mention the mountain of clothes from Uncle and Auntie. So, we spent about 4 hours basking in the sunlight (well, for Rupa and I that would be burning in the sunlight!), enjoying the coolness of the river, soaping and rinsing over and over again! After finishing all the wash, we walked home, so the real fun could begin.
Upon returning home, I sent Arun out to buy 2.5 kg of chicken. While he was gone, I began “baking” the cakes. I could have just bought one, but I found these Pillsbury ones in the shop (the ones with the sprinkles in them creating colorful specks in the golden cake!) and the kids wanted me to “bake” for them, so I figured I’d give it a try. I found a big pot to cook them in (not our HUGE one for cooking rice for 16 kids, but one similar that’s slightly smaller!) and decided my best method would be to cook thin cakes and stack them. So, one by one I “baked” them, and they actually turned out great! The edges were golden, and the center was cooked perfectly. Two burned on the bottom and edges, but when I flipped them over, that part stuck to the pan while the rest fell nicely on to the plate, leaving just the moist, white center to be eaten! Plus, for some reason, the boys loved the black part left in the pan, so they were excited when that happened. I had found some knock-off icing spread, which I figured we’d try. The kids really liked it, so I covered the “cake” in it, saving it for after dinner!
Then, we had rice and meat and curry for dinner, which they loved. It was more meat than they were used to, so everyone got plenty to eat! After dinner, we headed into the sitting room to have the cake and some soda that I bought for the occasion. I went a little overboard and bought 2 litre bottles of Pepsi, Coke, Fanta, and Sprite, which sounds like nothing compared to how much we Americans would drink at a party, but here we use these tiny cups to serve soda at parties, about the size of those paper cups for the bathroom. So each kid got 2 refills, and we served the cake on used sheets of paper torn out of their old notebooks (nothing quite like paper plates with the quadratic equation sprawled all over them!). The kids LOVED the cake, and begged me to make it again. Unfortunately, the shop doesn’t have any more sprinkle cake, but they do have chocolate cake which I’ll make for them before I leave! That and German sweet rice :).
To finish off the evening, I game them all the games and toys my parent’s Sunday School class sent. I had divided up the gifts, and I gave the kids their treasures on one condition: any toys/games they received had to stay at home after the break! People in the US have overwhelmed us with gifts and games, and the kids have all that they could want here! And most of the games were duplicates of ones we already had at home, so I instructed the kids to take them home to their villages and teach the children there how to play them and then leave them there for those kids! The kids were more than happy to do that, as many had already done that with their Christmas gifts. I gave the two brand new, beautiful silver soccer balls to Darshan and Rajkumar, who beamed like you’ve never seen. They were so excited to take these balls home and play with their village friends who don’t have a ball to play with! And there were loads of sports jerseys and t-shirts for the boys, which they loved, and most wore to church the next day! The girls got some games and a ton of hair accessories, which have adorned their hair ever since. I was worried because all the boys were getting multiple t-shirts and big toys like footballs and soccer balls, but the girls were so excited about their hair stuff that they couldn’t stop looking at them and comparing and trading!
I think the thing that got me the most was when Manisha said, “Sister, no one’s ever thrown us a party like this! I mean, it’s just for us, and we get meat and you made us a cake and bought soda!” I mean, we’ve had a lot of parties while I’ve been here, but none have been just FOR the kids! It made me realize how far love goes. I mean, the cake wasn’t as pretty as a store bought one, but they loved it more because I made it for them! And the meat didn’t cost that much (about $10 for it all), but they only get meat once a week, so it was special. And they never get soda (unless Uncle takes a few of them out to a restaurant), so that was something completely special. And altogether it cost me about $25 for everything. Of course the gifts from the US cost a lot more, and the kids loved them more for it! I hope that I never forget how appreciative I should be, even over the “small” things in life, because there are people in the world who will never get even those small surprises!
Katching, katching... clunk, clunk! One by one the kids came home from school, medals encircling their necks, certificates consuming their hands, smiles overwhelming their faces. I might not have the most academically strong students, but I’ve got an athletic bunch! I think the grand total was 19 medals from sports day at school, and that was for only 13 kids! An impressive number, one that surprised the other teachers! So, I told the kids on the last day of school we would have a party to celebrate...
After we finished school on the last day of school, we all headed home, bound for an incredibly busy afternoon and evening! First, we went out to the river to wash clothes. Lots and lots of school clothes so that when they get back after break all their clothes will be clean and ready to go. Not to mention the mountain of clothes from Uncle and Auntie. So, we spent about 4 hours basking in the sunlight (well, for Rupa and I that would be burning in the sunlight!), enjoying the coolness of the river, soaping and rinsing over and over again! After finishing all the wash, we walked home, so the real fun could begin.
Upon returning home, I sent Arun out to buy 2.5 kg of chicken. While he was gone, I began “baking” the cakes. I could have just bought one, but I found these Pillsbury ones in the shop (the ones with the sprinkles in them creating colorful specks in the golden cake!) and the kids wanted me to “bake” for them, so I figured I’d give it a try. I found a big pot to cook them in (not our HUGE one for cooking rice for 16 kids, but one similar that’s slightly smaller!) and decided my best method would be to cook thin cakes and stack them. So, one by one I “baked” them, and they actually turned out great! The edges were golden, and the center was cooked perfectly. Two burned on the bottom and edges, but when I flipped them over, that part stuck to the pan while the rest fell nicely on to the plate, leaving just the moist, white center to be eaten! Plus, for some reason, the boys loved the black part left in the pan, so they were excited when that happened. I had found some knock-off icing spread, which I figured we’d try. The kids really liked it, so I covered the “cake” in it, saving it for after dinner!
Then, we had rice and meat and curry for dinner, which they loved. It was more meat than they were used to, so everyone got plenty to eat! After dinner, we headed into the sitting room to have the cake and some soda that I bought for the occasion. I went a little overboard and bought 2 litre bottles of Pepsi, Coke, Fanta, and Sprite, which sounds like nothing compared to how much we Americans would drink at a party, but here we use these tiny cups to serve soda at parties, about the size of those paper cups for the bathroom. So each kid got 2 refills, and we served the cake on used sheets of paper torn out of their old notebooks (nothing quite like paper plates with the quadratic equation sprawled all over them!). The kids LOVED the cake, and begged me to make it again. Unfortunately, the shop doesn’t have any more sprinkle cake, but they do have chocolate cake which I’ll make for them before I leave! That and German sweet rice :).
To finish off the evening, I game them all the games and toys my parent’s Sunday School class sent. I had divided up the gifts, and I gave the kids their treasures on one condition: any toys/games they received had to stay at home after the break! People in the US have overwhelmed us with gifts and games, and the kids have all that they could want here! And most of the games were duplicates of ones we already had at home, so I instructed the kids to take them home to their villages and teach the children there how to play them and then leave them there for those kids! The kids were more than happy to do that, as many had already done that with their Christmas gifts. I gave the two brand new, beautiful silver soccer balls to Darshan and Rajkumar, who beamed like you’ve never seen. They were so excited to take these balls home and play with their village friends who don’t have a ball to play with! And there were loads of sports jerseys and t-shirts for the boys, which they loved, and most wore to church the next day! The girls got some games and a ton of hair accessories, which have adorned their hair ever since. I was worried because all the boys were getting multiple t-shirts and big toys like footballs and soccer balls, but the girls were so excited about their hair stuff that they couldn’t stop looking at them and comparing and trading!
I think the thing that got me the most was when Manisha said, “Sister, no one’s ever thrown us a party like this! I mean, it’s just for us, and we get meat and you made us a cake and bought soda!” I mean, we’ve had a lot of parties while I’ve been here, but none have been just FOR the kids! It made me realize how far love goes. I mean, the cake wasn’t as pretty as a store bought one, but they loved it more because I made it for them! And the meat didn’t cost that much (about $10 for it all), but they only get meat once a week, so it was special. And they never get soda (unless Uncle takes a few of them out to a restaurant), so that was something completely special. And altogether it cost me about $25 for everything. Of course the gifts from the US cost a lot more, and the kids loved them more for it! I hope that I never forget how appreciative I should be, even over the “small” things in life, because there are people in the world who will never get even those small surprises!
Monday, March 29, 2010
Living without Water and Electricity: The Upside!
March 24, 2010
I’ve come up with a list of the top reasons everyone should live without water and electricity at least once in their live. Hope you enjoy!
1) Living without electricity is cheaper on the power bill. Really, you pay way less when your power’s off half the time!
2) Living without water is cheaper on the water bill. I think we pay around 55 rupees (less than one dollar) a month for water.
3) You learn to be incredibly careful with your time. You wake up in the morning thinking, now when should there be power today? What do I need to do during those precious few hours?!
4) You build lots of muscles for free hauling water up the stairs while trying not to use the toilet at the same time. No gym necessary, and the more times you use the toilet during the day, the stronger you’ll become!
5) No power forces all the children to leave the TV room during the holidays for most of the day. It’s good for them to get some fresh air!
6) Everything’s more romantic by candlelight- dinner, studying, using the toilet. Ok, maybe not that last one, but it is kinda fun to be reading by candle light. I just pretend I’m on the old west frontier with my covered wagon parked out front!
7) You pray for heat to melt the snow so more power comes fastly (that’s an English word in Nepal, really.). Of course, with that heat comes sweat and stink, and there’s no water to wash, so you learn to really appreciate everyone’s bathing days!
8) That said, bathing is overrated, and if you have no water to bathe, then you use that time for other things. Like moaning about there being no power and water.
9) It’s rather humorous to see children RUNNING up the stairs with a bucket of water sloshing this way and that in a desperate attempt to make it to the toilet on time!
10) You become INCREDIBLY efficient with the little water available. For instance, my little handwashing water becomes foot washing water after it’s been used and then it becomes toilet flushing water. It’s called recycling ;).
11) When the power’s out in the evenings it becomes a “forced curfew,” allowing your body to get that much craved sleep as you may as well go to sleep at 9 since, well, that candle’s about to finish anyway!
12) You start having dreams about going on cruises with friends- on oceans of drinkable water... you dive in and just start drinking and drinking and don’t have to worry about saving some for later because, well there’s a whole ocean of it!
13) And last but not least, you’re just that much more thankful for those times with power and water! And you definitely won’t take them for granted again...
I’ve come up with a list of the top reasons everyone should live without water and electricity at least once in their live. Hope you enjoy!
1) Living without electricity is cheaper on the power bill. Really, you pay way less when your power’s off half the time!
2) Living without water is cheaper on the water bill. I think we pay around 55 rupees (less than one dollar) a month for water.
3) You learn to be incredibly careful with your time. You wake up in the morning thinking, now when should there be power today? What do I need to do during those precious few hours?!
4) You build lots of muscles for free hauling water up the stairs while trying not to use the toilet at the same time. No gym necessary, and the more times you use the toilet during the day, the stronger you’ll become!
5) No power forces all the children to leave the TV room during the holidays for most of the day. It’s good for them to get some fresh air!
6) Everything’s more romantic by candlelight- dinner, studying, using the toilet. Ok, maybe not that last one, but it is kinda fun to be reading by candle light. I just pretend I’m on the old west frontier with my covered wagon parked out front!
7) You pray for heat to melt the snow so more power comes fastly (that’s an English word in Nepal, really.). Of course, with that heat comes sweat and stink, and there’s no water to wash, so you learn to really appreciate everyone’s bathing days!
8) That said, bathing is overrated, and if you have no water to bathe, then you use that time for other things. Like moaning about there being no power and water.
9) It’s rather humorous to see children RUNNING up the stairs with a bucket of water sloshing this way and that in a desperate attempt to make it to the toilet on time!
10) You become INCREDIBLY efficient with the little water available. For instance, my little handwashing water becomes foot washing water after it’s been used and then it becomes toilet flushing water. It’s called recycling ;).
11) When the power’s out in the evenings it becomes a “forced curfew,” allowing your body to get that much craved sleep as you may as well go to sleep at 9 since, well, that candle’s about to finish anyway!
12) You start having dreams about going on cruises with friends- on oceans of drinkable water... you dive in and just start drinking and drinking and don’t have to worry about saving some for later because, well there’s a whole ocean of it!
13) And last but not least, you’re just that much more thankful for those times with power and water! And you definitely won’t take them for granted again...
Went down to the river... washed in the water!
March 21, 2010
Going out to the river is an all afternoon experience. We bring buckets full of collected dirty clothes (and grudgingly agree to do the laundry of those not joining us ;)!) and clothes soap and shampoo and body soap and water to drink and usually some snacks. Then, we walk about 15 minutes through our community, before reaching the hill leading down to the river. The hike down is on the verge of dangerous as we juggle buckets, large wash bowls and trashcans full of essential items for an afternoon in the sun. Unfortunately, that hike back up AFTER washing everything is killer- I never knew my lungs and calves could burn so much!
I’ve been enough now that I have a “spot” where I go every time! Now before you go thinking this is the Mississippi river or the Guadalupe, let me tell you it’s not, at least not now. At the widest spots it’s no more than 12 feet wide, and only a foot or two deep. But I figure as the snow melts on the mountains (which it is now!!!), the level will continue to rise. Anyway, there’s this spot with this rocky “island” and several large rocks which Arun so kindly relocated for me to use. I proceed to put all of our junk on the island, and then divide the clothes up to wash and begin the process.
I half fill one of the buckets with clean water flowing over a rocky dam Arun built for me, and then add powdered soap. I squish squash the clothes for a good 3 minutes watching with wonder as the water turns a deep chocolate brown. Then, I lodge the bucket between three rocks that make a tripod for me and squat in the middle of the river, using two of the largest stones as my table. Their tops are about the size of a large flat rate USPS box (guess you can tell what’s lying around my room!) and I use one for finished clothes and one for the clothes I’m soaping. I then take each garment individually soaping it, scrubbing it with the brush, and then throwing it on the finished rock. After each load is finished, I proceed to fill the bucket halfway, rinsing each piece individually over and over again. This keeps me from stirring up dirt as I work, keeping the clothes a little cleaner!
Finally, I lay the clothes on the dry grass adorning the banks of the river or on sheets that are laying out in the sun. Then it’s on to another load! While us girls wash and wash and wash some more, though, the boys move here and there, looking for a good swimming hole. Unfortunately for them, we’re not the only ones at the river, and other people will scold them for stirring up dirt into the water, so they have to search pretty well. When they do find a decent hole (of about 2 feet deep, maybe 2.5 if you’re really lucky), they begin to float nicely like all boys do in the pool. Except not. Last time, I had to warn Prabin that if he baptized anyone I would make him stay out of the water for the rest of the day. Really. He was baptizing Raju, Darshan, and attempting to baptize Arun, but unfortunately for him, Arun’s bigger than him! But his baptisms were long and prolonged, and ended with the boys screaming bloody murder. So, I had to end his fun. But most of the time they’re just splashing and playing with one another, and finally bathing nicely.
The past two times that we’ve gone, though, we’ve had an unwelcome guest. There’s this man who lives down by the river (I hope he does anyway, otherwise he just lurks there all the time), and he’ll casually pick a spot about 30-50 yards away from us and just sit and watch. It’s creepy. If I knew Nepali and was braver, I might tell him off, but, I don’t and I’m not, so I just hurry the girls through the washing, and pack us up and head home. This past time we actually moved up the river after washing all our clothes so us girls could wash our hair out of his sight, but a few minutes after we found a good spot, he came sauntering by, walking by slowly, then turning and walking back by. I’ve never been so glad to have 4 teenage boys constantly checking up on the girls and I! The boys will make great dads one day! Maybe it's growing up with 15 other kids hanging around ;)...
Going out to the river is an all afternoon experience. We bring buckets full of collected dirty clothes (and grudgingly agree to do the laundry of those not joining us ;)!) and clothes soap and shampoo and body soap and water to drink and usually some snacks. Then, we walk about 15 minutes through our community, before reaching the hill leading down to the river. The hike down is on the verge of dangerous as we juggle buckets, large wash bowls and trashcans full of essential items for an afternoon in the sun. Unfortunately, that hike back up AFTER washing everything is killer- I never knew my lungs and calves could burn so much!
I’ve been enough now that I have a “spot” where I go every time! Now before you go thinking this is the Mississippi river or the Guadalupe, let me tell you it’s not, at least not now. At the widest spots it’s no more than 12 feet wide, and only a foot or two deep. But I figure as the snow melts on the mountains (which it is now!!!), the level will continue to rise. Anyway, there’s this spot with this rocky “island” and several large rocks which Arun so kindly relocated for me to use. I proceed to put all of our junk on the island, and then divide the clothes up to wash and begin the process.
I half fill one of the buckets with clean water flowing over a rocky dam Arun built for me, and then add powdered soap. I squish squash the clothes for a good 3 minutes watching with wonder as the water turns a deep chocolate brown. Then, I lodge the bucket between three rocks that make a tripod for me and squat in the middle of the river, using two of the largest stones as my table. Their tops are about the size of a large flat rate USPS box (guess you can tell what’s lying around my room!) and I use one for finished clothes and one for the clothes I’m soaping. I then take each garment individually soaping it, scrubbing it with the brush, and then throwing it on the finished rock. After each load is finished, I proceed to fill the bucket halfway, rinsing each piece individually over and over again. This keeps me from stirring up dirt as I work, keeping the clothes a little cleaner!
Finally, I lay the clothes on the dry grass adorning the banks of the river or on sheets that are laying out in the sun. Then it’s on to another load! While us girls wash and wash and wash some more, though, the boys move here and there, looking for a good swimming hole. Unfortunately for them, we’re not the only ones at the river, and other people will scold them for stirring up dirt into the water, so they have to search pretty well. When they do find a decent hole (of about 2 feet deep, maybe 2.5 if you’re really lucky), they begin to float nicely like all boys do in the pool. Except not. Last time, I had to warn Prabin that if he baptized anyone I would make him stay out of the water for the rest of the day. Really. He was baptizing Raju, Darshan, and attempting to baptize Arun, but unfortunately for him, Arun’s bigger than him! But his baptisms were long and prolonged, and ended with the boys screaming bloody murder. So, I had to end his fun. But most of the time they’re just splashing and playing with one another, and finally bathing nicely.
The past two times that we’ve gone, though, we’ve had an unwelcome guest. There’s this man who lives down by the river (I hope he does anyway, otherwise he just lurks there all the time), and he’ll casually pick a spot about 30-50 yards away from us and just sit and watch. It’s creepy. If I knew Nepali and was braver, I might tell him off, but, I don’t and I’m not, so I just hurry the girls through the washing, and pack us up and head home. This past time we actually moved up the river after washing all our clothes so us girls could wash our hair out of his sight, but a few minutes after we found a good spot, he came sauntering by, walking by slowly, then turning and walking back by. I’ve never been so glad to have 4 teenage boys constantly checking up on the girls and I! The boys will make great dads one day! Maybe it's growing up with 15 other kids hanging around ;)...
Saturday, March 27, 2010
Love. NOW!
March 17, 2010
Now, I haven’t been “parenting” very long, but it’s been one of those trial by fire experiences. I’ve had all the “He hit me!” “Because she’s teasing me!” episodes along with the frantic, “Sister, I need a ruler, compass, blue pen, black pen, and the most hard to find pen nip. BEFORE we go to school in 5 minutes!” Or the, “I washed his shirt accidentally and now he’s wearing it and he didn’t wash mine so I don’t have anything to wear to school because that one smells!” My typical response has become one that my mom used to use with us quite often, “Is this a problem you want me to solve?!” I don’t think they quite understand the question, but their momentary pause in the complaint is worth the misunderstood question.
However, I have the occasional serious episode, which usually involves one of the younger children crying because one of the older ones was beating them or yelling at them. Well, we hit a climatic point the other day, as I found one of the younger boys with full out gut wrenching sobs echoing in the kids dining room, sitting alone. I knelt down next to him, trying to get him calmed down enough for me to understand what had happened. In a halting, hiccup filled statement he explained that the older boys were beating him and scolding him and always treat the younger boys as servants and there’s nothing they can do to stop it. Now, you might think that he was overreacting, and he probably was to some extent, but I’ve had several discussions with the older boys about NOT disciplining the younger boys as they are not parents. Since this wasn’t the first instance where I’d heard of or seen the older boys overstepping their bounds with the younger ones, I took them inside the dining hall, sat them down, and lit into them. We went through all the ways they are to LOVE their younger brothers, not beat them and treat them as slaves. When I finished, I had two remorseful, sullen boys on my hands, just in time for devotionals.
I mulled over the incident during the songs, and I decided to deviate from our “next” passage and we went through 1 Corinthians 13 instead for our Bible study. We talked about how if Jesus had seen a child crying, He would have scooped him up on His lap and hugged him and let His love fill the child’s bones. I understand that they’re kids and they’ll fight and cry and all, but we had gone too far. So, after we finished reading, I gave each of them a sheet of paper and they had to write their name on the top. Then we proceeded to pass the papers around the table, writing one thing we loved about whomever’s paper we currently had. They were required to write on every single person’s paper, and it took some of them awhile. To make it interesting, they weren’t allowed to write the same thing twice! We had the typical “I love you because you are funny” but we also had the more serious “I love you because when I’m sad you listen and help me feel better.” By then end, everyone was smiling and I’m praying they realized that there’s something to love in every one of their brothers and sisters.
When everyone had written on everyone else’s paper, I collected them (so I could write on them later that night; as mediator making sure everyone was playing fair, I didn’t have time to then!) to their dismay. I promised to return them the next morning, and then headed off to write my notes to them. The next morning, I handed them back out after breakfast, and you would have thought I had given them gold as excited as they were (and I guess in some ways I did give them a piece of gold...)! All 14 wandered around outside, reading, laughing, and commenting on why their “siblings” loved them. I know they’re not going to change overnight, but the love in that moment was worth the hours work the night before! I think it got them thinking about how there’s something to love in every one of us, because God’s created each of us! We can’t always see what God’s plans are for each of us or even how He’s working in our hearts, but with faith we know that “now we see as in a mirror, but then we shall see face to face...” (1 Cor 13). And I saw a lot more love yesterday than I had in awhile!
Now, I haven’t been “parenting” very long, but it’s been one of those trial by fire experiences. I’ve had all the “He hit me!” “Because she’s teasing me!” episodes along with the frantic, “Sister, I need a ruler, compass, blue pen, black pen, and the most hard to find pen nip. BEFORE we go to school in 5 minutes!” Or the, “I washed his shirt accidentally and now he’s wearing it and he didn’t wash mine so I don’t have anything to wear to school because that one smells!” My typical response has become one that my mom used to use with us quite often, “Is this a problem you want me to solve?!” I don’t think they quite understand the question, but their momentary pause in the complaint is worth the misunderstood question.
However, I have the occasional serious episode, which usually involves one of the younger children crying because one of the older ones was beating them or yelling at them. Well, we hit a climatic point the other day, as I found one of the younger boys with full out gut wrenching sobs echoing in the kids dining room, sitting alone. I knelt down next to him, trying to get him calmed down enough for me to understand what had happened. In a halting, hiccup filled statement he explained that the older boys were beating him and scolding him and always treat the younger boys as servants and there’s nothing they can do to stop it. Now, you might think that he was overreacting, and he probably was to some extent, but I’ve had several discussions with the older boys about NOT disciplining the younger boys as they are not parents. Since this wasn’t the first instance where I’d heard of or seen the older boys overstepping their bounds with the younger ones, I took them inside the dining hall, sat them down, and lit into them. We went through all the ways they are to LOVE their younger brothers, not beat them and treat them as slaves. When I finished, I had two remorseful, sullen boys on my hands, just in time for devotionals.
I mulled over the incident during the songs, and I decided to deviate from our “next” passage and we went through 1 Corinthians 13 instead for our Bible study. We talked about how if Jesus had seen a child crying, He would have scooped him up on His lap and hugged him and let His love fill the child’s bones. I understand that they’re kids and they’ll fight and cry and all, but we had gone too far. So, after we finished reading, I gave each of them a sheet of paper and they had to write their name on the top. Then we proceeded to pass the papers around the table, writing one thing we loved about whomever’s paper we currently had. They were required to write on every single person’s paper, and it took some of them awhile. To make it interesting, they weren’t allowed to write the same thing twice! We had the typical “I love you because you are funny” but we also had the more serious “I love you because when I’m sad you listen and help me feel better.” By then end, everyone was smiling and I’m praying they realized that there’s something to love in every one of their brothers and sisters.
When everyone had written on everyone else’s paper, I collected them (so I could write on them later that night; as mediator making sure everyone was playing fair, I didn’t have time to then!) to their dismay. I promised to return them the next morning, and then headed off to write my notes to them. The next morning, I handed them back out after breakfast, and you would have thought I had given them gold as excited as they were (and I guess in some ways I did give them a piece of gold...)! All 14 wandered around outside, reading, laughing, and commenting on why their “siblings” loved them. I know they’re not going to change overnight, but the love in that moment was worth the hours work the night before! I think it got them thinking about how there’s something to love in every one of us, because God’s created each of us! We can’t always see what God’s plans are for each of us or even how He’s working in our hearts, but with faith we know that “now we see as in a mirror, but then we shall see face to face...” (1 Cor 13). And I saw a lot more love yesterday than I had in awhile!
And with the sound of a Klunk, there was no water...
March 16, 2010
“Klunk.” With a smack, the bucket jerked to a stop at the end of the rope. I looked with surprise at the boys pulling water for Didi, Rupa and I as we washed a mountain of clothes. Arun peered intently down the chasm to the small circular reflection over 30 feet below. With a grin, he looked up and stated, “I think we’ve hit the bottom!” Concerned, I looked over at Didi and said, “Then how do we finish the wash?!” A hurried Nepali discussion flew between them, before we established that we would finish washing at home, and then walk about 30 minutes to rinse the clothes in the river. Arun looked at me with pleading eyes and said, “Sister, can I go to the bottom of the well?! There are some buckets that fell down there!” As Auntie and Uncle were out, I wasn’t about to authorize a 14 year old boy to climb down the well, with or without water! As he pouted I ran upstairs to grab my laundry bag to take to the river.
When I got back downstairs, I found almost all the kids gathered around the well, and Arun and Shiva’s arms were rippled with strain as they gripped the rope leading into the well. After doing a quick head survey, I discovered Laxman was missing, and I has a suspicious suspicion that I knew exactly where he was. “Laxman?!” I called as 12 heads turned and looked at me. A small, echoey “Yes?!” was the reply that returned to me. “Is he IN the well?!” I asked Shiva and Arun. Their grins that said “I wish I was in there but I’m still glad to be part of the action” told me everything I needed to know. I ran over and looked down into the darkness, where Laxman was standing with one foot in the bucket and the other in mid air as they lowered him down. Again, I’m a terrible parent as I quickly gauged the distance down vs. the distance to come back up and deemed he might as well finish his journey down and tell us what was at the bottom.
After a few year-long seconds, he reached the bottom, to my utter relief. There were a couple of old buckets that had long ago fallen to what we thought was their end, finally rescued months or years later. Laxman shouted up to let us know the water was only ankle deep, which explained why we were having trouble pulling up any water! Finally, he was ready to come back up. Now, Laxman is shorter than me, but he’s build solidly. More so than any of the other gangly older boys. I have a little more strength than my boys, so I grabbed the rope with Arun and we began to heave Laxman up. “Ugggh! LAXMAN! NO MORE RICE FOR YOU!” we shouted down the well. “Whoa! Be careful with me!” was the frantic reply. Slowly, we finished his ascent, and we twisted him this way and that to get him out.
We then determined that we would in fact have to do our clothes washing in the river, for the rest of the dry season (which I hear is through May). The other well still has a little water at the bottom, but it’s the reddest, smelliest water you’ve ever seen and can’t be used for dishes or for clothes. So, we’re down to the drinking water (when the power’s on) and the big semi-drinking water tank. Needless to say, I’ve been incredibly proactive when there’s power making sure every single water jug is filled to the brim before the power goes out! Uncle told me this happened last year too, and they just make a day of it each week, spending a relaxing day at the river washing clothes, bathing, and just sitting. Which sounds just fine to me :).
“Klunk.” With a smack, the bucket jerked to a stop at the end of the rope. I looked with surprise at the boys pulling water for Didi, Rupa and I as we washed a mountain of clothes. Arun peered intently down the chasm to the small circular reflection over 30 feet below. With a grin, he looked up and stated, “I think we’ve hit the bottom!” Concerned, I looked over at Didi and said, “Then how do we finish the wash?!” A hurried Nepali discussion flew between them, before we established that we would finish washing at home, and then walk about 30 minutes to rinse the clothes in the river. Arun looked at me with pleading eyes and said, “Sister, can I go to the bottom of the well?! There are some buckets that fell down there!” As Auntie and Uncle were out, I wasn’t about to authorize a 14 year old boy to climb down the well, with or without water! As he pouted I ran upstairs to grab my laundry bag to take to the river.
When I got back downstairs, I found almost all the kids gathered around the well, and Arun and Shiva’s arms were rippled with strain as they gripped the rope leading into the well. After doing a quick head survey, I discovered Laxman was missing, and I has a suspicious suspicion that I knew exactly where he was. “Laxman?!” I called as 12 heads turned and looked at me. A small, echoey “Yes?!” was the reply that returned to me. “Is he IN the well?!” I asked Shiva and Arun. Their grins that said “I wish I was in there but I’m still glad to be part of the action” told me everything I needed to know. I ran over and looked down into the darkness, where Laxman was standing with one foot in the bucket and the other in mid air as they lowered him down. Again, I’m a terrible parent as I quickly gauged the distance down vs. the distance to come back up and deemed he might as well finish his journey down and tell us what was at the bottom.
After a few year-long seconds, he reached the bottom, to my utter relief. There were a couple of old buckets that had long ago fallen to what we thought was their end, finally rescued months or years later. Laxman shouted up to let us know the water was only ankle deep, which explained why we were having trouble pulling up any water! Finally, he was ready to come back up. Now, Laxman is shorter than me, but he’s build solidly. More so than any of the other gangly older boys. I have a little more strength than my boys, so I grabbed the rope with Arun and we began to heave Laxman up. “Ugggh! LAXMAN! NO MORE RICE FOR YOU!” we shouted down the well. “Whoa! Be careful with me!” was the frantic reply. Slowly, we finished his ascent, and we twisted him this way and that to get him out.
We then determined that we would in fact have to do our clothes washing in the river, for the rest of the dry season (which I hear is through May). The other well still has a little water at the bottom, but it’s the reddest, smelliest water you’ve ever seen and can’t be used for dishes or for clothes. So, we’re down to the drinking water (when the power’s on) and the big semi-drinking water tank. Needless to say, I’ve been incredibly proactive when there’s power making sure every single water jug is filled to the brim before the power goes out! Uncle told me this happened last year too, and they just make a day of it each week, spending a relaxing day at the river washing clothes, bathing, and just sitting. Which sounds just fine to me :).
Monday, March 15, 2010
They call me Dr. Sister...
March 14, 2010
One day, Darshan came running to me, blood flowing freely exposing raw skin on the tip of one of his toes. Now, the kids are always asking me for “handi-plus,” the Nepali equivalent of a Band-aid, and 90% of the time I’d need a microscope to see the wound (or, “oond” as they can’t say wound!). Well, not seeing the trail of blood running from the driveway through the front door and up the stairs, I quickly asked “Now Darshan, let me see the blood and I’ll give you a Band-aid,” assuming it was another pin prick for which the best remedy is “toughen up, kiddo!” “Sister, Look!” he said with a painful grin spreading across his strong face. I looked down, and was pretty sure I was going to vomit. I immediately steered him out onto the porch, grabbed my roll of athletic tape, some alcohol swabs, and the Neosporin. I gently cleaned the wound and bandaged it as best I could. He hobbled back down the stairs, cleaning the evidence as he went!
A few days later, Arun came to me the same way, with a similar “oond” on his toe. I thought it was odd, but the kids all wear sandals pretty much always, so I figured the boys had just forgotten how to walk. So, we went through the process of cleaning it and bandaging it, and he sadly had to just watch all the other boys play and have fun later that afternoon.
Well, Manisha thought it was hilarious that Arun had hurt his toe and couldn’t quite walk right and was hobbling around. Remember, this is Arun who flies up and down the stairs and is always running somewhere! For him to be gingerly creeping up and down the stairs was quite the contrast, and in her opinion worthy of definite ridicule! Well, the same day that he injured his toe, she was racing to straighten all the shoes so she could get back into the TV room to watch with the other kids and she shut the door over her toe. Not even kidding. A huge chunk of toe was left on the unforgiving door and she cried out in pain. This is where my horrible parenting skills come in: I burst out laughing. Blood is beginning to pool and threatening to drip on the carpet, so I sent her upstairs to clean it and wait for me while I tried to get myself under control. Fortunately, the other kids (Manisha included) thought this was God’s sense of humor punishing her for teasing Arun too much! So, I cleaned and bandaged her toe, and she began life as a hobbling gimp.
I’m sure you’ve figured out the pattern now. I walked outside one day to see Laxman sitting on the ground, a pained expression etched onto his face as the other kids stood around, with smiles on their faces. Looking down, I saw his toe was torn open and blood was spilling over onto the concrete ground. With confused laughter, I told him not to move, and I ran up and grabbed my tape and supplies (thankfully I’m hyper-prepared for a medical emergency and had a hospital’s supply of everything with me!) and ran back downstairs. Well, this time I really dug in to find out how these “oonds” were all popping up suddenly. I mean, maybe it was the new Nepali style to injure one toe and walk around with it taped or something (not that anyone could see the “oond” with the school shoes on anyway, though!). Laxman said that it was due to football (soccer in America), and I asked how suddenly football had caused so many injuries. He said it just did, which didn’t satisfy me, so I began to investigate further.
My final piece of evidence was Shiva. I was out watching them play football in the driveway, and he went to kick the ball, and his sandal got caught on the ground, bending back and allowing his toe to intimately meet the unforgiving concrete below, causing a mass of torn flesh and a pool of blood to flow. “Don’t move!” I told him, and I ran up to grab my supplies and came back to fix his toe. Having finally discovered the true cause of the toe injuries, I did what any good parent would do- I made a new rule. “You are NOT allowed to play football without tennis shoes, which every single one of you have upstairs! If I catch you playing without good shoes on, I’ll take the ball and not let you play anymore!” “But sister, this is the best time for us to play, because we now know we have a doctor living with us, so if we get hurt, you’ll fix us!” Laxman protested. “No discussion. Either put on your tennis shoes or don’t play.” Sullenly the boys walked the two flights up the stairs to their room, complaining that having to put on their tennis shoes was wasting valuable football time. I told them that they’re lazy.
Since then I’ve checked on them every now and then, and they’re smart enough to wear their tennis shoes now when they play. Guess they know that I’ll seriously take their ball and not let them play if they’re not! And I haven’t had any more toe fashion statements in the last week or so, but I figure as the kids got injured in order from youngest to oldest, there’s no one older than Shiva to get hurt. It’s not often that a 10 year old sets the trend for his 14, 15 and 16 year old brothers (along with his sister!). That said, if you ever rip the skin off your toe jaggedly leaving blood and dirt dancing in its place, I’m there. I’ll fix you up, give you a good scolding for not wearing tennis shoes, and then send you back out to play (or hobble!) with a smile :).
One day, Darshan came running to me, blood flowing freely exposing raw skin on the tip of one of his toes. Now, the kids are always asking me for “handi-plus,” the Nepali equivalent of a Band-aid, and 90% of the time I’d need a microscope to see the wound (or, “oond” as they can’t say wound!). Well, not seeing the trail of blood running from the driveway through the front door and up the stairs, I quickly asked “Now Darshan, let me see the blood and I’ll give you a Band-aid,” assuming it was another pin prick for which the best remedy is “toughen up, kiddo!” “Sister, Look!” he said with a painful grin spreading across his strong face. I looked down, and was pretty sure I was going to vomit. I immediately steered him out onto the porch, grabbed my roll of athletic tape, some alcohol swabs, and the Neosporin. I gently cleaned the wound and bandaged it as best I could. He hobbled back down the stairs, cleaning the evidence as he went!
A few days later, Arun came to me the same way, with a similar “oond” on his toe. I thought it was odd, but the kids all wear sandals pretty much always, so I figured the boys had just forgotten how to walk. So, we went through the process of cleaning it and bandaging it, and he sadly had to just watch all the other boys play and have fun later that afternoon.
Well, Manisha thought it was hilarious that Arun had hurt his toe and couldn’t quite walk right and was hobbling around. Remember, this is Arun who flies up and down the stairs and is always running somewhere! For him to be gingerly creeping up and down the stairs was quite the contrast, and in her opinion worthy of definite ridicule! Well, the same day that he injured his toe, she was racing to straighten all the shoes so she could get back into the TV room to watch with the other kids and she shut the door over her toe. Not even kidding. A huge chunk of toe was left on the unforgiving door and she cried out in pain. This is where my horrible parenting skills come in: I burst out laughing. Blood is beginning to pool and threatening to drip on the carpet, so I sent her upstairs to clean it and wait for me while I tried to get myself under control. Fortunately, the other kids (Manisha included) thought this was God’s sense of humor punishing her for teasing Arun too much! So, I cleaned and bandaged her toe, and she began life as a hobbling gimp.
I’m sure you’ve figured out the pattern now. I walked outside one day to see Laxman sitting on the ground, a pained expression etched onto his face as the other kids stood around, with smiles on their faces. Looking down, I saw his toe was torn open and blood was spilling over onto the concrete ground. With confused laughter, I told him not to move, and I ran up and grabbed my tape and supplies (thankfully I’m hyper-prepared for a medical emergency and had a hospital’s supply of everything with me!) and ran back downstairs. Well, this time I really dug in to find out how these “oonds” were all popping up suddenly. I mean, maybe it was the new Nepali style to injure one toe and walk around with it taped or something (not that anyone could see the “oond” with the school shoes on anyway, though!). Laxman said that it was due to football (soccer in America), and I asked how suddenly football had caused so many injuries. He said it just did, which didn’t satisfy me, so I began to investigate further.
My final piece of evidence was Shiva. I was out watching them play football in the driveway, and he went to kick the ball, and his sandal got caught on the ground, bending back and allowing his toe to intimately meet the unforgiving concrete below, causing a mass of torn flesh and a pool of blood to flow. “Don’t move!” I told him, and I ran up to grab my supplies and came back to fix his toe. Having finally discovered the true cause of the toe injuries, I did what any good parent would do- I made a new rule. “You are NOT allowed to play football without tennis shoes, which every single one of you have upstairs! If I catch you playing without good shoes on, I’ll take the ball and not let you play anymore!” “But sister, this is the best time for us to play, because we now know we have a doctor living with us, so if we get hurt, you’ll fix us!” Laxman protested. “No discussion. Either put on your tennis shoes or don’t play.” Sullenly the boys walked the two flights up the stairs to their room, complaining that having to put on their tennis shoes was wasting valuable football time. I told them that they’re lazy.
Since then I’ve checked on them every now and then, and they’re smart enough to wear their tennis shoes now when they play. Guess they know that I’ll seriously take their ball and not let them play if they’re not! And I haven’t had any more toe fashion statements in the last week or so, but I figure as the kids got injured in order from youngest to oldest, there’s no one older than Shiva to get hurt. It’s not often that a 10 year old sets the trend for his 14, 15 and 16 year old brothers (along with his sister!). That said, if you ever rip the skin off your toe jaggedly leaving blood and dirt dancing in its place, I’m there. I’ll fix you up, give you a good scolding for not wearing tennis shoes, and then send you back out to play (or hobble!) with a smile :).
Wednesday, March 10, 2010
Rajkumar... Speak clearly, child!
March 11, 2010
Rajkumar is a 12 year old boy, wavering daily on whether he’s still a “boy” with Darshan and Raju or if he’s an “adolescent” (a word the kids learned at school and is now used freely around the home in reference to the oldest kids!) along with Shiva, Laxman, Prabin and Arun (though Arun still has the free spirit of a boy!). He’s at that 7th-8th grade level, and I had once contemplated moving down to teach those grades, and now I know that my calling is freshmen! Not that it’s Rajkumar- he’s a great kid, usually funny, a fantastic artist, and genuinely cares about you. It’s more that phase of kids when they’re trying to fit into shoes that are just too big for them and you just want to tell them to wait and one day they’ll fit, but they won’t listen :).
Rajkumar has the same problem that I struggled with for most of my childhood (just as my mom!)- he mumbles and slurs all his words together. Rami says that he speaks “roughly,” and she’s right. I think that’s what’s been hardest for me with him, I can’t understand most of what he says in English, much less Nepali! That and the fact that he speaks at 900 words per minute makes it very difficult to have a good conversation with him. A few days ago I finally sat down and told him, “Rajkumar, you are so hard to understand when you speak! You have to slow down and speak clearly if you want people to understand you, ok?!” And that’s when I realized that I must have sounded exactly like my mom did when I was a child! Though, spending 8 months in a ESL country will perfect your pronunciations and teach you to speak slowly :). Since our talk, Rajkumar’s speech is becoming clearer, which is nice!
On the flip side of the coin, Rajkumar is a pretty funny kid. For instance, he’ll discover something on his plate that is questionable, hold it up to just in front of his nose so that his eyes are crossed as he examines it, then he’ll grin and throw it on Darshan or Raju’s plate. Or he’ll talk to the chickens or Dolly (the dog) in this strange cross between an old woman and adolescent boy high pitched voice (picture an old old old grandmother saying “cold hands, warm heart, sonny!”) that cracks often which is really humorous and strangely the time I understand him the best! And for his lack of conversational skills, his communication with paper and pencil is phenomenal. He is a fantastic artist, especially with landscape pictures. I recently had the kids make a poster for the dining room with a big tree and the 9 fruits of the Spirit written on it in Nepali, and he drew the tree with some birds nesting in it while a few other kids drew the fruits. It was phenomenal! With enough practice, both he and Prabin could really be great artists!
Rajkumar’s got a mother and some younger brothers at home and his face is brightest when he talks about his family. I know he genuinely loves them, and he misses them while he’s here. He was one of my boys who was quick to share his Christmas presents with his brothers at home, leaving most of them there for them to play with while he was studying here at school! His compassion for others continues to amaze me! He has a genuine heart for other people, especially those who are hurting or don’t have as much as him and he is quick to do everything he can to remedy the situation. God’s going to continue to use that compassion to further His kingdom, and I can’t wait to see how He does that!
Rajkumar is a 12 year old boy, wavering daily on whether he’s still a “boy” with Darshan and Raju or if he’s an “adolescent” (a word the kids learned at school and is now used freely around the home in reference to the oldest kids!) along with Shiva, Laxman, Prabin and Arun (though Arun still has the free spirit of a boy!). He’s at that 7th-8th grade level, and I had once contemplated moving down to teach those grades, and now I know that my calling is freshmen! Not that it’s Rajkumar- he’s a great kid, usually funny, a fantastic artist, and genuinely cares about you. It’s more that phase of kids when they’re trying to fit into shoes that are just too big for them and you just want to tell them to wait and one day they’ll fit, but they won’t listen :).
Rajkumar has the same problem that I struggled with for most of my childhood (just as my mom!)- he mumbles and slurs all his words together. Rami says that he speaks “roughly,” and she’s right. I think that’s what’s been hardest for me with him, I can’t understand most of what he says in English, much less Nepali! That and the fact that he speaks at 900 words per minute makes it very difficult to have a good conversation with him. A few days ago I finally sat down and told him, “Rajkumar, you are so hard to understand when you speak! You have to slow down and speak clearly if you want people to understand you, ok?!” And that’s when I realized that I must have sounded exactly like my mom did when I was a child! Though, spending 8 months in a ESL country will perfect your pronunciations and teach you to speak slowly :). Since our talk, Rajkumar’s speech is becoming clearer, which is nice!
On the flip side of the coin, Rajkumar is a pretty funny kid. For instance, he’ll discover something on his plate that is questionable, hold it up to just in front of his nose so that his eyes are crossed as he examines it, then he’ll grin and throw it on Darshan or Raju’s plate. Or he’ll talk to the chickens or Dolly (the dog) in this strange cross between an old woman and adolescent boy high pitched voice (picture an old old old grandmother saying “cold hands, warm heart, sonny!”) that cracks often which is really humorous and strangely the time I understand him the best! And for his lack of conversational skills, his communication with paper and pencil is phenomenal. He is a fantastic artist, especially with landscape pictures. I recently had the kids make a poster for the dining room with a big tree and the 9 fruits of the Spirit written on it in Nepali, and he drew the tree with some birds nesting in it while a few other kids drew the fruits. It was phenomenal! With enough practice, both he and Prabin could really be great artists!
Rajkumar’s got a mother and some younger brothers at home and his face is brightest when he talks about his family. I know he genuinely loves them, and he misses them while he’s here. He was one of my boys who was quick to share his Christmas presents with his brothers at home, leaving most of them there for them to play with while he was studying here at school! His compassion for others continues to amaze me! He has a genuine heart for other people, especially those who are hurting or don’t have as much as him and he is quick to do everything he can to remedy the situation. God’s going to continue to use that compassion to further His kingdom, and I can’t wait to see how He does that!
Living the American Life, minus electricity and water...
March 10, 2010
Most days I feel like I’m living around the block in the US. I mean, sure, everyone else is brown with beautiful long swishy hair and I rarely hear a lick of English outside of school and home, but still, it doesn’t feel all that different. But there are times when I’m reminded of just where I am...
Apparently, we’ve hit the driest season of Nepal. Honestly, I had hoped that was past as I’m pretty sure our well bucket makes it to America before we hit water! And we had a FANTASTIC thunderstorm the other day, which got my hopes up with the sudden onslaught of water! But to my dismay, I read in the paper a few days later that rainy season doesn’t start until Junish. I mean, really people, JUNE?! Meaning that we haven’t hit the worst of the dry season yet. Resulting in two things: a shortage of clean water and a shortage of electricity.
About a week ago, I woke up, went downstairs and started into my devotional. A few minutes later kids started trickling downstairs with toothbrushes tucked under their arms, in their hair, or clutched in their tired hands. We use clean water to brush our teeth, but we’re not supposed to do much else with it outside of drinking. This water comes from an electric machine that’s about the size of a home fuse box. A short but cool background story: one of my dad’s friends works for a water purification company in the US. Actually, water purification is just one of it’s branches, but about 9 months ago they decided to install water purification systems in some third world countries, targeting schools and orphanages. And Nepal was one of their targeted areas. And this orphanage was one of the homes where they installed their machine, along with the school I teach at down the street! It’s a small world, isn’t it? Come to find out that without this machine, we’d have to walk about a quarter mile each way to get clean drinking water. Needless to say, I’m very thankful for his company’s generosity!
Anyway, we have two other types of water as well: somewhat purified water for cooking and well water for everything else, including our indoor plumbing. As it gets drier and drier here, the well water has become redder and redder. And with the power outages, there’s not as much drinking water, though we try to stock up with big water drums when there is power, but often there’s no water when there is power. Which leaves us in quite a pickle! So, about 10 minutes after the teeth brushing started, I heard loud scolding from the kitchen, with girls arguing incessantly. One of the girls had used the last of our drinking water to wash her face. I mean, it wasn’t a huge deal, because if we really wanted to drink water we could boil the somewhat purified water and drink it, but, I think it was the principle of the matter. And I’ll admit, I’ve been tempted more than once to use the drinking water for washing my face (somehow, washing you face in red water seems pointless!), but I’ve restrained myself! Last week, though, Uncle and Auntie let us start using the somewhat purified water for bathing as the well water is just too red, which should cut down on us women’s temptation to use the drinking water for our faces!
The other problem with the dry season, though, is the shortage of electricity. Most of Nepal is powered by Hydro-Electricity, and without a strong current in the rivers, the electrical output just isn’t there. And until the snow on the Himalayas starts melting, there won’t be enough electricity. That and the fact that much of the power generated is lost due to old out of date wiring systems and electrical plants. So, we’re down to about 12 hours of power per day on average, most of which is between the hours of 9 PM and 6 AM (not so helpful when you want to go out to a cyber shop!). While there are many things I’ll really appreciate when I get back to the US, clean running water and constant electricity will be 2 of the most appreciated ones!
Most days I feel like I’m living around the block in the US. I mean, sure, everyone else is brown with beautiful long swishy hair and I rarely hear a lick of English outside of school and home, but still, it doesn’t feel all that different. But there are times when I’m reminded of just where I am...
Apparently, we’ve hit the driest season of Nepal. Honestly, I had hoped that was past as I’m pretty sure our well bucket makes it to America before we hit water! And we had a FANTASTIC thunderstorm the other day, which got my hopes up with the sudden onslaught of water! But to my dismay, I read in the paper a few days later that rainy season doesn’t start until Junish. I mean, really people, JUNE?! Meaning that we haven’t hit the worst of the dry season yet. Resulting in two things: a shortage of clean water and a shortage of electricity.
About a week ago, I woke up, went downstairs and started into my devotional. A few minutes later kids started trickling downstairs with toothbrushes tucked under their arms, in their hair, or clutched in their tired hands. We use clean water to brush our teeth, but we’re not supposed to do much else with it outside of drinking. This water comes from an electric machine that’s about the size of a home fuse box. A short but cool background story: one of my dad’s friends works for a water purification company in the US. Actually, water purification is just one of it’s branches, but about 9 months ago they decided to install water purification systems in some third world countries, targeting schools and orphanages. And Nepal was one of their targeted areas. And this orphanage was one of the homes where they installed their machine, along with the school I teach at down the street! It’s a small world, isn’t it? Come to find out that without this machine, we’d have to walk about a quarter mile each way to get clean drinking water. Needless to say, I’m very thankful for his company’s generosity!
Anyway, we have two other types of water as well: somewhat purified water for cooking and well water for everything else, including our indoor plumbing. As it gets drier and drier here, the well water has become redder and redder. And with the power outages, there’s not as much drinking water, though we try to stock up with big water drums when there is power, but often there’s no water when there is power. Which leaves us in quite a pickle! So, about 10 minutes after the teeth brushing started, I heard loud scolding from the kitchen, with girls arguing incessantly. One of the girls had used the last of our drinking water to wash her face. I mean, it wasn’t a huge deal, because if we really wanted to drink water we could boil the somewhat purified water and drink it, but, I think it was the principle of the matter. And I’ll admit, I’ve been tempted more than once to use the drinking water for washing my face (somehow, washing you face in red water seems pointless!), but I’ve restrained myself! Last week, though, Uncle and Auntie let us start using the somewhat purified water for bathing as the well water is just too red, which should cut down on us women’s temptation to use the drinking water for our faces!
The other problem with the dry season, though, is the shortage of electricity. Most of Nepal is powered by Hydro-Electricity, and without a strong current in the rivers, the electrical output just isn’t there. And until the snow on the Himalayas starts melting, there won’t be enough electricity. That and the fact that much of the power generated is lost due to old out of date wiring systems and electrical plants. So, we’re down to about 12 hours of power per day on average, most of which is between the hours of 9 PM and 6 AM (not so helpful when you want to go out to a cyber shop!). While there are many things I’ll really appreciate when I get back to the US, clean running water and constant electricity will be 2 of the most appreciated ones!
Thursday, March 4, 2010
Living in a country of cell phones and internets shops without water and electricity...
March 2, 2010
I’m sure you’ve seen reports of technology reaching into third-world countries, spreading into remote villages and infecting everyone with a need to be connected. When I first arrived here, I was surprised at the number of cell phones I saw attached to people’s ears as they walked and the number of internet shops. However, as time has gone on, I’ve begun to realize that people here value those “frivolous” luxuries which connect them to other people far more than modern “necessities” such as washing machines, dish washers, and even regular electricity. That and the fact that they’re way cheap! For instance, I can use the internet at the local shop (or rather, one of the 4 local shops within a 5 minute walk from our house!) for a mere 5 rupees for 15 minutes. So, essentially, I can stay online for an hour for about 25 cents. Which might explain why when I was in the shop the other day, 5 out of the 8 computers had facebook plastered on their screens. I’m not exaggerating! And cell phones are a few dollars to purchase, and then around 2 rupees per call (or something like that!). None of the kids here at home have cell phones (or are supposed to, but that’s another story probably better not told!), but I have set a few of them up with e-mail accounts. They rather enjoy e-mailing other volunteers who have come through the home, and they love the power of getting and sending mail themselves. Of course, that was partly selfish as I’ll want them to e-mail me when I leave, letting me know how things are going here!
But, back to living in a third world country. There are some inconveniences here, but once you get used to them, you can manage just fine. For instance, most people have 2-3 sets of clothes, and thats it. Instead of filling a closet (which they don’t have here) with 50 outfits (which they won’t wear), they spend their money on the internet a few times a week. Or, instead of a washing machine, they burn 500 extra calories a day washing clothes by hand (eliminating the need for a gym membership) and have a cell phone to talk to their relatives in the village. And their relatives in the village don’t have running water (they burn 1000 extra calories a day lugging water from the kuah 10 minutes away all day long, saving on pipe costs and water bills) but they have cell phones to talk to their friends in the glamorous city.
All this to say, we are a very connected society, regardless of socio-economic status or family background! I’m definitely not negating the fact that these people are poor, because they are. And I’m not saying that cell phones and facebook provide true friendships, but they’re a step closer than worrying about losing 10 pounds at the local gym to win 10 extra shallow glances! Here, we manage with what little we have and we enjoy life anyway! It’s made me realize how many extra things American’s pay for to enrich our lives, when what most of the world is looking for is love. Friendship, marriage, children, and ultimately the love of a Savior. And that’s a lot more fulfilling than a washing machine!
I’m sure you’ve seen reports of technology reaching into third-world countries, spreading into remote villages and infecting everyone with a need to be connected. When I first arrived here, I was surprised at the number of cell phones I saw attached to people’s ears as they walked and the number of internet shops. However, as time has gone on, I’ve begun to realize that people here value those “frivolous” luxuries which connect them to other people far more than modern “necessities” such as washing machines, dish washers, and even regular electricity. That and the fact that they’re way cheap! For instance, I can use the internet at the local shop (or rather, one of the 4 local shops within a 5 minute walk from our house!) for a mere 5 rupees for 15 minutes. So, essentially, I can stay online for an hour for about 25 cents. Which might explain why when I was in the shop the other day, 5 out of the 8 computers had facebook plastered on their screens. I’m not exaggerating! And cell phones are a few dollars to purchase, and then around 2 rupees per call (or something like that!). None of the kids here at home have cell phones (or are supposed to, but that’s another story probably better not told!), but I have set a few of them up with e-mail accounts. They rather enjoy e-mailing other volunteers who have come through the home, and they love the power of getting and sending mail themselves. Of course, that was partly selfish as I’ll want them to e-mail me when I leave, letting me know how things are going here!
But, back to living in a third world country. There are some inconveniences here, but once you get used to them, you can manage just fine. For instance, most people have 2-3 sets of clothes, and thats it. Instead of filling a closet (which they don’t have here) with 50 outfits (which they won’t wear), they spend their money on the internet a few times a week. Or, instead of a washing machine, they burn 500 extra calories a day washing clothes by hand (eliminating the need for a gym membership) and have a cell phone to talk to their relatives in the village. And their relatives in the village don’t have running water (they burn 1000 extra calories a day lugging water from the kuah 10 minutes away all day long, saving on pipe costs and water bills) but they have cell phones to talk to their friends in the glamorous city.
All this to say, we are a very connected society, regardless of socio-economic status or family background! I’m definitely not negating the fact that these people are poor, because they are. And I’m not saying that cell phones and facebook provide true friendships, but they’re a step closer than worrying about losing 10 pounds at the local gym to win 10 extra shallow glances! Here, we manage with what little we have and we enjoy life anyway! It’s made me realize how many extra things American’s pay for to enrich our lives, when what most of the world is looking for is love. Friendship, marriage, children, and ultimately the love of a Savior. And that’s a lot more fulfilling than a washing machine!
Unappreciated Holidays...
March 2, 2010
I think the thing that’s amazed me the most about Hindu culture are the festivals. I mean, as Christians, we’ve got Christmas (one day) and Easter (one day). Now, if you want to be more specific, there is a whole Christmas season (which I’m sure some believe starts way too early; after not having a Christmas season in the community around me this year though, my belief is that Christmas season should start in May!), but we still only have one Christmas.
When I first arrived, we reached the Hindu holiday of Dashain. It’s a 3 week holiday, for, well, I don’t really know what! It’s a big long break, though, and most of the country shuts down for most of that (not that the country’s open consistently when there’s not a holiday, but still!). Soon after that was Tihar, a 3 day festival of lights. There are “Christmas” lights up everywhere (obviously, they don’t call them “Christmas” lights, but, that’s what they would be in America!) and lamps in windows and fires on the streets (ok, not that unusual, but these are religion specific, not just burning trash!). On the actual day of Tihar, there are fireworks and lights everywhere, and people light these little bowls of oil outside their houses to bring good fortune or something. It kinda reminded me of a mixture of Christmas and July 4th. It was a really pretty holiday.
Then there were a few other holidays here and there over the past 3 months which have shut down the country, but they were relatively quiet and unassuming. Mostly, they consisted of people wandering aimlessly in the streets, looking for anything to occupy themselves! In the last few weeks, though, we’ve had 2 holidays which I am convinced were the creation of someone who had way too much time on their hands and decided to entertain themselves at the cost of others.
The first was Mahashivaratri (try saying that 10 times fast!). So, it goes like this. All the little children gather ropes from their roofs leaving partially dried clothes strewn here and there. They head out to the street with these ropes, and stand on opposite sides of the street while the rope stretches out across the street, sleeping calmly until a vehicle approaches. The children keep their eyes peeled for cars, bikes, anything moving basically, and when they spot their prey, they lift the rope up, effectively closing the road. Then, as the vehicle stops, they charge the poor person in the car 5-10 rupees for the use of the PUBLIC road. Of course, I was not about to pay these Hindu kiddos to use a public road (I know, that’s pocket change, but it’s the principle of the matter! That and the fact that I had 15 kids who would have loved 10 rupees at home, so I wasn’t about to take from them!), so, as I was on the bicycle, I either snuck around the side of a paying car or stopped, dismounted my bike, lifted it over the upraised rope and then stepped over myself. This made some laugh, and some mad. You can’t please them all I suppose ;). I do have to give props to whoever made up this holiday, though. Barricading a public road and charging a toll to pass is a great way to make a lot of money, even if you just charge 10 cents per car! I’ll have to keep that in mind for paying of my student loans when I get back to the US...
The next was slightly harder to avoid. It was called Holi, and it’s known as a festival of color closing the doors on winter and welcoming the fragrance of spring! Sounds innocent enough, right? Well, to make sure everyone’s playing along, for about a week before the actual day of Holi kids swarm the streets armed with water guns, water balloons and eggs. Now, traditionally, if you have paint on your face, you’re safe from these weapons of destruction. Again, I wasn’t going to paint my face in order to walk to the shop, so I chose to take my chances. I was hit with a few water balloons, but I didn’t mind those so much. I mean, they’re really inconvenient when you’re hit on your way to a 3 hour church service (which I was), meaning your clothes are wet for the majority of that time, but I can live with that.
However, some of the kids decide to add “special” surprises to the day and throw balloons filled with colored water (in the spirit of the colors) or with urine and sewer water (someone needs to beat those kids with bamboo rods!). That or eggs. Thankfully, I wasn’t hit with any special balloons, but some boys down the road from us thought it was really funny to wait until someone had passed and then run up at full speed and throw a boiled egg at their unsuspecting back. Unfortunately, I was hit with one of those eggs, square on my spine. I was in so much pain that I couldn’t even turn and yell at the kid. Actually, that was probably a blessing from God, because had I opened my mouth at that moment, I would have most certainly said many things that I would have later regretted! Actually, had I turned around, I might have killed them. But, at that time, I didn’t even want to think about moving my back, so, Rami, who was walking with me, turned and yelled a string of scolding words at them before we hurried home. We got home and a large knot had formed right on the center of my backbone. Fortunately the pain died down to a dull ache (I thought boiled eggs were SQUISHY!), and the next day the knot was mostly gone with a nice bruise in its place. Needless to say, I won’t mind coming home to the holidays I grew up loving!
I think the thing that’s amazed me the most about Hindu culture are the festivals. I mean, as Christians, we’ve got Christmas (one day) and Easter (one day). Now, if you want to be more specific, there is a whole Christmas season (which I’m sure some believe starts way too early; after not having a Christmas season in the community around me this year though, my belief is that Christmas season should start in May!), but we still only have one Christmas.
When I first arrived, we reached the Hindu holiday of Dashain. It’s a 3 week holiday, for, well, I don’t really know what! It’s a big long break, though, and most of the country shuts down for most of that (not that the country’s open consistently when there’s not a holiday, but still!). Soon after that was Tihar, a 3 day festival of lights. There are “Christmas” lights up everywhere (obviously, they don’t call them “Christmas” lights, but, that’s what they would be in America!) and lamps in windows and fires on the streets (ok, not that unusual, but these are religion specific, not just burning trash!). On the actual day of Tihar, there are fireworks and lights everywhere, and people light these little bowls of oil outside their houses to bring good fortune or something. It kinda reminded me of a mixture of Christmas and July 4th. It was a really pretty holiday.
Then there were a few other holidays here and there over the past 3 months which have shut down the country, but they were relatively quiet and unassuming. Mostly, they consisted of people wandering aimlessly in the streets, looking for anything to occupy themselves! In the last few weeks, though, we’ve had 2 holidays which I am convinced were the creation of someone who had way too much time on their hands and decided to entertain themselves at the cost of others.
The first was Mahashivaratri (try saying that 10 times fast!). So, it goes like this. All the little children gather ropes from their roofs leaving partially dried clothes strewn here and there. They head out to the street with these ropes, and stand on opposite sides of the street while the rope stretches out across the street, sleeping calmly until a vehicle approaches. The children keep their eyes peeled for cars, bikes, anything moving basically, and when they spot their prey, they lift the rope up, effectively closing the road. Then, as the vehicle stops, they charge the poor person in the car 5-10 rupees for the use of the PUBLIC road. Of course, I was not about to pay these Hindu kiddos to use a public road (I know, that’s pocket change, but it’s the principle of the matter! That and the fact that I had 15 kids who would have loved 10 rupees at home, so I wasn’t about to take from them!), so, as I was on the bicycle, I either snuck around the side of a paying car or stopped, dismounted my bike, lifted it over the upraised rope and then stepped over myself. This made some laugh, and some mad. You can’t please them all I suppose ;). I do have to give props to whoever made up this holiday, though. Barricading a public road and charging a toll to pass is a great way to make a lot of money, even if you just charge 10 cents per car! I’ll have to keep that in mind for paying of my student loans when I get back to the US...
The next was slightly harder to avoid. It was called Holi, and it’s known as a festival of color closing the doors on winter and welcoming the fragrance of spring! Sounds innocent enough, right? Well, to make sure everyone’s playing along, for about a week before the actual day of Holi kids swarm the streets armed with water guns, water balloons and eggs. Now, traditionally, if you have paint on your face, you’re safe from these weapons of destruction. Again, I wasn’t going to paint my face in order to walk to the shop, so I chose to take my chances. I was hit with a few water balloons, but I didn’t mind those so much. I mean, they’re really inconvenient when you’re hit on your way to a 3 hour church service (which I was), meaning your clothes are wet for the majority of that time, but I can live with that.
However, some of the kids decide to add “special” surprises to the day and throw balloons filled with colored water (in the spirit of the colors) or with urine and sewer water (someone needs to beat those kids with bamboo rods!). That or eggs. Thankfully, I wasn’t hit with any special balloons, but some boys down the road from us thought it was really funny to wait until someone had passed and then run up at full speed and throw a boiled egg at their unsuspecting back. Unfortunately, I was hit with one of those eggs, square on my spine. I was in so much pain that I couldn’t even turn and yell at the kid. Actually, that was probably a blessing from God, because had I opened my mouth at that moment, I would have most certainly said many things that I would have later regretted! Actually, had I turned around, I might have killed them. But, at that time, I didn’t even want to think about moving my back, so, Rami, who was walking with me, turned and yelled a string of scolding words at them before we hurried home. We got home and a large knot had formed right on the center of my backbone. Fortunately the pain died down to a dull ache (I thought boiled eggs were SQUISHY!), and the next day the knot was mostly gone with a nice bruise in its place. Needless to say, I won’t mind coming home to the holidays I grew up loving!
Friday, February 19, 2010
Raju; take 2!
February 18, 2010
Remember Raju? I’ve told you about him before. He’s the cutest little 7 year old ever, with big eyes that betray every emotion that crosses his mind. Well, his English has improved exponentially, and we can now carry on a decent conversation (of course, it’s still at the level of a 7 year old, but, comprehendible for both parties!). He’ll run up to me and say, “Sister, Skip-Bo? Uno?!” And I just can’t help but to say “yes!” Or he’ll come up with big pleading eyes and say, “Sister, I need pencil.” Or “I need socks/toothbrush/insert any other necessity that a 7 year old can lose quickly here!” But really, he makes me laugh so much, so I had to share more of him with you!
The other day, I had one of those moments where I should have been the mature 23 year old sister, but I couldn’t help but respond as a 23 year old sister minus the maturity! You see, we were playing Uno in the sitting room, and one of the kids playing with us had to run out for a second. Well, his eyes began to sparkle as he gazed longingly around at all the couches adorning the walls fit for 16 children! Suddenly, he sprang from his crouched Uno position and exploded onto one of the couches and did the most perfect front flip, landing Indian-style on the seat. And I was like, “WHOA!” And I burst out laughing because of the sheer awesomeness and I couldn’t even scold him like I know I should have (you know your mom told you not to jump on the couch!). A huge grin plastered itself onto his tiny face and he did a couple more flips before deciding he better not push his luck. Then he was right back to his crouched position, ready to win another game of Uno. You would have never known that he had moved had you not seen him flipping!
Then, a few days later, he came wandering into the kitchen, looking for entertainment as so many 7 year old boys do, only to find Didi and I peeling and cutting potatoes for the curry. He looked on with mild interest which soon blossomed into intent interest as he found a large knife and began to peel a potato himself. I know, I know, you’re thinking, “what sort of missionary are you letting 7 year olds play with kitchen knives?!” But in that split second decision I had to choose whether to let him serve in his own special way or to take away his joy in helping us by taking the knife. Since the knife was pretty dull anyway, I let him continue to peel the potato. Didi and I watched with smiles on our faces as he peeled the one potato in the time it took us to peel and slice 15. But he helped. And when he finished peeling it, he walked over to me, washed it in the bowl of water and then gently cut it into small pieces and with an ear-to-ear smile put it onto the plate of potatoes for dinner. Totally worth the mild risk involved with letting a 7 year old boy peel a potato with large kitchen knives!
Finally, today after the kids ate I was sitting in the kitchen eating my rice, and in bounded Raju. He hopped onto the counter (another thing I shouldn’t let him do, but he can’t reach anything without climbing on the counter!) and grabbed a bowl. He then proceeded to search through the contents of his pocket until he came up with a couple of rubber bands which he proceeded to strap around the bowl. With amazement and wonder he gazed upon his deceptively simple creation. The end result: a two stringed miniature guitar. He then said “Sister! LOOK!” To which I praised his creative genius as he bounded out of the kitchen, strumming his new instrument. Oh to have the innocent awestruck wonder of a 7 year old!
Remember Raju? I’ve told you about him before. He’s the cutest little 7 year old ever, with big eyes that betray every emotion that crosses his mind. Well, his English has improved exponentially, and we can now carry on a decent conversation (of course, it’s still at the level of a 7 year old, but, comprehendible for both parties!). He’ll run up to me and say, “Sister, Skip-Bo? Uno?!” And I just can’t help but to say “yes!” Or he’ll come up with big pleading eyes and say, “Sister, I need pencil.” Or “I need socks/toothbrush/insert any other necessity that a 7 year old can lose quickly here!” But really, he makes me laugh so much, so I had to share more of him with you!
The other day, I had one of those moments where I should have been the mature 23 year old sister, but I couldn’t help but respond as a 23 year old sister minus the maturity! You see, we were playing Uno in the sitting room, and one of the kids playing with us had to run out for a second. Well, his eyes began to sparkle as he gazed longingly around at all the couches adorning the walls fit for 16 children! Suddenly, he sprang from his crouched Uno position and exploded onto one of the couches and did the most perfect front flip, landing Indian-style on the seat. And I was like, “WHOA!” And I burst out laughing because of the sheer awesomeness and I couldn’t even scold him like I know I should have (you know your mom told you not to jump on the couch!). A huge grin plastered itself onto his tiny face and he did a couple more flips before deciding he better not push his luck. Then he was right back to his crouched position, ready to win another game of Uno. You would have never known that he had moved had you not seen him flipping!
Then, a few days later, he came wandering into the kitchen, looking for entertainment as so many 7 year old boys do, only to find Didi and I peeling and cutting potatoes for the curry. He looked on with mild interest which soon blossomed into intent interest as he found a large knife and began to peel a potato himself. I know, I know, you’re thinking, “what sort of missionary are you letting 7 year olds play with kitchen knives?!” But in that split second decision I had to choose whether to let him serve in his own special way or to take away his joy in helping us by taking the knife. Since the knife was pretty dull anyway, I let him continue to peel the potato. Didi and I watched with smiles on our faces as he peeled the one potato in the time it took us to peel and slice 15. But he helped. And when he finished peeling it, he walked over to me, washed it in the bowl of water and then gently cut it into small pieces and with an ear-to-ear smile put it onto the plate of potatoes for dinner. Totally worth the mild risk involved with letting a 7 year old boy peel a potato with large kitchen knives!
Finally, today after the kids ate I was sitting in the kitchen eating my rice, and in bounded Raju. He hopped onto the counter (another thing I shouldn’t let him do, but he can’t reach anything without climbing on the counter!) and grabbed a bowl. He then proceeded to search through the contents of his pocket until he came up with a couple of rubber bands which he proceeded to strap around the bowl. With amazement and wonder he gazed upon his deceptively simple creation. The end result: a two stringed miniature guitar. He then said “Sister! LOOK!” To which I praised his creative genius as he bounded out of the kitchen, strumming his new instrument. Oh to have the innocent awestruck wonder of a 7 year old!
Pure and Undefiled Religion... to help the orphans in distress...
February 18, 2010
As a teacher, I have many different personalities in my classroom. In class 5, the top 6 students are all girls who are well behaved and eager to learn and please me. One of these girls, whom I’ll call Alisha, is a small girl with a quiet personality and a shy smile. Left with her friends, though, you’ll hear her laughter dancing in the air as one of the other girls will catch her arm and pull her into whatever game they’re playing in the school yard. Her older brother is much like her- a good student, respectful, hardworking. They are well liked by both students and teachers alike.
On Sunday, I stayed home from school to give my leg one more day to heal and to pick up my X-rays from the hospital, and in the afternoon I walked over to the Cyber shop during our 2 hours of daylight power. On my way, I was surprised to meet up with the girls of class 9, including Rami and Ranjita. Their words all tumbled over one another, making it impossible for me to sort out why they weren’t in school and why they were walking as a pack down the street. Finally, I pieced together their reason, and I felt as though someone had knocked the air out of me. “Alisha’s mom died yesterday and we’re going to give her and her brother support!” I wasn’t sure I had understood correctly, so I asked them to repeat it one more time, with dread filling me as they repeated the same statement.
Astounded, I asked how it had happened. During the nights here it gets very cold, and while most nights the blankets are warm enough, some mornings you wake up shivering from the cold basking your exposed face. Alisha’s mom suffered from low blood pressure, and during the night the cold had caused her blood pressure to drop too low, and she never woke up in the morning. As their dad is who knows where (a common theme of the children here), Alisha slept with her mom each night to keep warm. Waking up in the morning, she turned to awake her mom only to find a cold still body next to her. Crying out and shaking her, she drew her brother into the room who also tried to arouse their mom and called for an ambulance. When they realized that their mother was gone, the tears flowed freely. That same night Alisha’s older brother lit the fire to burn their mother, with just a few relatives joining them.
The girls asked me if I wanted to come with them to Alisha’s house to give support and love, and to be honest, I didn’t. I didn’t know what to say or how to respond or what to do. I made up a thousand reasons not to go in my mind in the seconds that followed, but I knew that I was placed here for such a time as this, and in my weakness, God would pour on His love. So we walked to their relatives home where they were staying, and cautiously approached the house. I think the girls were as unsure as I was in how to show them love when such pain had fallen upon them. Alisha’s brother was outside, and the class 9 boys were huddled around him, hugging him, and just sitting there. It was a pretty beautiful scene.
Alisha didn’t want to come out, but she did when her aunt had her help serve us drinks. I felt horrible. Here we were to love on them, and they insisted on giving us cold sodas. The girls and I tried to refuse, but they just set the drinks at our feet and then walked back inside while we sat with her brother. And all I could do was pray that God brought comfort upon this home, that He would heal the wounds and draw these orphans to Himself.
After a few minutes, the girls and I left. That night, during devotionals, the kids and I talked about what had happened and how we could encourage Alisha and her brother. I think the kids understood better as most have felt the rejection of a father, though only a couple have lost their mothers as well. We talked a lot about death being final, and how important it is to use every opportunity to share Jesus with those around us, as none of us are guaranteed the next minute, much less tomorrow. We all wrote notes in a couple of cards that I had picked up, and I was impressed with how thoughtful the kids were in what they wrote. I guess in a society where death comes much sooner for most than most of the rest of the world, the kids grow up almost expecting pain like this.
Surprising to me, both Alisha and her brother returned to school the next day. I guess some sense of normalcy helps distract us from pain. While a hint of pain etched itself across her face, her smile returned occasionally when the girls dragged her into one of their games. She’s staying with her aunt for now, who has a daughter who’s also in class 5, but her aunt can’t afford to pay for her tuition, so the principal has given her brother and her full scholarships to finish high school. I can’t help but pray every time I see her sitting in my class, alternating between staring out the window and taking notes. She’s still one of my best students and I hope that through this she sees the light of Jesus and feels His peace wash over her. It reminds me of how many children are left as orphans each day throughout the world because of death or abandonment. And I pray that God would pour out His love on each and every one of them, healing the wounds and pains from this world.
As a teacher, I have many different personalities in my classroom. In class 5, the top 6 students are all girls who are well behaved and eager to learn and please me. One of these girls, whom I’ll call Alisha, is a small girl with a quiet personality and a shy smile. Left with her friends, though, you’ll hear her laughter dancing in the air as one of the other girls will catch her arm and pull her into whatever game they’re playing in the school yard. Her older brother is much like her- a good student, respectful, hardworking. They are well liked by both students and teachers alike.
On Sunday, I stayed home from school to give my leg one more day to heal and to pick up my X-rays from the hospital, and in the afternoon I walked over to the Cyber shop during our 2 hours of daylight power. On my way, I was surprised to meet up with the girls of class 9, including Rami and Ranjita. Their words all tumbled over one another, making it impossible for me to sort out why they weren’t in school and why they were walking as a pack down the street. Finally, I pieced together their reason, and I felt as though someone had knocked the air out of me. “Alisha’s mom died yesterday and we’re going to give her and her brother support!” I wasn’t sure I had understood correctly, so I asked them to repeat it one more time, with dread filling me as they repeated the same statement.
Astounded, I asked how it had happened. During the nights here it gets very cold, and while most nights the blankets are warm enough, some mornings you wake up shivering from the cold basking your exposed face. Alisha’s mom suffered from low blood pressure, and during the night the cold had caused her blood pressure to drop too low, and she never woke up in the morning. As their dad is who knows where (a common theme of the children here), Alisha slept with her mom each night to keep warm. Waking up in the morning, she turned to awake her mom only to find a cold still body next to her. Crying out and shaking her, she drew her brother into the room who also tried to arouse their mom and called for an ambulance. When they realized that their mother was gone, the tears flowed freely. That same night Alisha’s older brother lit the fire to burn their mother, with just a few relatives joining them.
The girls asked me if I wanted to come with them to Alisha’s house to give support and love, and to be honest, I didn’t. I didn’t know what to say or how to respond or what to do. I made up a thousand reasons not to go in my mind in the seconds that followed, but I knew that I was placed here for such a time as this, and in my weakness, God would pour on His love. So we walked to their relatives home where they were staying, and cautiously approached the house. I think the girls were as unsure as I was in how to show them love when such pain had fallen upon them. Alisha’s brother was outside, and the class 9 boys were huddled around him, hugging him, and just sitting there. It was a pretty beautiful scene.
Alisha didn’t want to come out, but she did when her aunt had her help serve us drinks. I felt horrible. Here we were to love on them, and they insisted on giving us cold sodas. The girls and I tried to refuse, but they just set the drinks at our feet and then walked back inside while we sat with her brother. And all I could do was pray that God brought comfort upon this home, that He would heal the wounds and draw these orphans to Himself.
After a few minutes, the girls and I left. That night, during devotionals, the kids and I talked about what had happened and how we could encourage Alisha and her brother. I think the kids understood better as most have felt the rejection of a father, though only a couple have lost their mothers as well. We talked a lot about death being final, and how important it is to use every opportunity to share Jesus with those around us, as none of us are guaranteed the next minute, much less tomorrow. We all wrote notes in a couple of cards that I had picked up, and I was impressed with how thoughtful the kids were in what they wrote. I guess in a society where death comes much sooner for most than most of the rest of the world, the kids grow up almost expecting pain like this.
Surprising to me, both Alisha and her brother returned to school the next day. I guess some sense of normalcy helps distract us from pain. While a hint of pain etched itself across her face, her smile returned occasionally when the girls dragged her into one of their games. She’s staying with her aunt for now, who has a daughter who’s also in class 5, but her aunt can’t afford to pay for her tuition, so the principal has given her brother and her full scholarships to finish high school. I can’t help but pray every time I see her sitting in my class, alternating between staring out the window and taking notes. She’s still one of my best students and I hope that through this she sees the light of Jesus and feels His peace wash over her. It reminds me of how many children are left as orphans each day throughout the world because of death or abandonment. And I pray that God would pour out His love on each and every one of them, healing the wounds and pains from this world.
Sunday, February 14, 2010
Jack and Jill went up the hill, but Jill came down faster!
February 13, 2010
Once upon a time there was a fair maiden teaching at a school in Kathmandu, Nepal. One sunny day after several days of rain and fog, the staff of this school released their captive students into the wild of Kantipur, a community a mere 45 minutes from the school. On this remote mountainside overlooking Kathmandu valley and the Himalayas the students’ bags erupted with picnic supplies from home- rice, curry, dahl, chilis- all very unusual picnic supplies for this western maiden. The teachers were provided with an excellent lunch of churrah (beaten dry rice), potato and cauliflower curry, chicken, and incredibly spicy “pickle.” A feast fit for, well, teachers on a picnic I suppose!
After eating more than they probably should have, the students quickly headed into the forest-jungle to explore this world so foreign to students held captive in the city most of the year! Following their lead, the four young male instructors from the school invited the maiden to join them on a hike through the forest-jungle in search of a better view of the valley far below. Eager to explore, the maiden jumped at the chance to hike and set out with the others, admiring the beauty and greenness of the land which had just become drunk on the rain of two days.
Enthralled with the beauty of the trees and the birds dancing between them, the maiden gazed up, ignoring the brown of the beaten path beneath her feet. Suddenly, the slick mud beneath her feet decided to move to a new home further down the mountain. With a startled cry, the maiden began to tumble down the mountain, becoming disoriented and frantic. After a few split seconds that felt like an eternity, she stopped abruptly with the help of a sudden connection of her head and knee to two large rocks. After the second of shock passed, a frantic hysteria set in, and the tears streamed down her face, making clean paths through her dirt covered face.
Suddenly, four sets of hands were trying to pull her up, this way and that, and in pain, she pulled back and begged them to let her sit for a few moments before moving, as there was throbbing pain in her elbow, knee, head and hip. She quickly composed herself, reassured that everything still moved and was still attached. The four eager yet shocked knights helped her up the mountain, back to the picnic spot where they attended to her wounds. Feeling very ashamed for ending their adventure early, she begged them to go on without her, but to no avail.
So, two set out to attain pain medicine from a small shop down the mountain a little ways while the others made sure everything did indeed move on its own and asked repeatedly to make sure she didn’t need to go to the hospital. In retrospect, she should have gone, but she was a very stubborn maiden and the only people who could get her to the hospital are her parents and her friend Katie. Besides, while there was some swelling in her knee and arm, they were still working, so, she figured she’d save the money. After about an hour’s worth of good conversation the teachers rounded up their freed children to return them to the captivity of the school.
Returning home that night, the maiden’s Uncle asked if she needed to go to the hospital, but, still stubborn (especially so because there were guests at the home), the maiden insisted that she was ok. However, the next night, the pain had increased substantially, mainly because the bruises had started to really develop and the muscles had become tight in the cool night air. As she finally explained all her injuries to Uncle including two very sore lumps on her head, he insisted that they go to the hospital the next morning to do X-rays.
Now, the maiden wasn’t sure what to expect at the hospital, as she was a little ethnocentric and couldn’t imagine that this hospital would compare to the western hospitals she was accustomed to. And she was right, it didn’t compare, at least in the building part of it. However, the emergency doctor she saw was the most peaceful, careful doctor she’d ever met, and he slowly but confidently examined her injuries one by one. After ensuring there was no brain trauma (no memory loss, no dizzieness, no pain in her brain, etc) and that it was all superficial (her skull only pained when it was touched or when she ate) he moved on to her arm and knee. Both were swollen and bruised, and he was concerned when he gently massaged her kneecap and felt something moving. To make sure it wasn’t anything serious, he ordered X-rays of both her arm and knee, stating that unless the pain in her head increased, there wasn’t anything that could be done for that anyway.
Now, for as gentle the emergency room doctor was, the X-ray technition was the polar opposite, and the maiden was sure that if her arm and knee weren’t broken before, they would be when he finished with her. As she spoke limited Nepali and he spoke limited English, the only thing he could do was move her limbs as he needed them to be. Which in turn caused some pain, to say the least! But, finally, the X-rays were finished, and the doctor looked at them, and assured the maiden that there was no damage that he could see from them. He referred her to visit a specialist the next day to make sure that he wasn’t missing anything on the X-rays. Other than that, he told her to “take rest and drink lots of water” in order to speed the healing process.
Not sure what to expect for the cost, the maiden was amazed to find out that the entire visit (X-rays, doctor’s fees, etc.) cost a mere 850 Rupees. About $11. As someone who was well acquainted with the emergency room her sophomore year of college (she made three visits in one semester, all for very valid reasons at the insistence of her friend Katie), this was an incredibly low fee. One she was very thankful for. And the moral of this story is that if you get hurt, fly to Nepal for care because the airfare may be cheaper than your medical bills in the US. But if you need X-rays, either learn Nepali before going in to see the technician or don’t get X-rays. Your choice. Or, you could not be a klutz and fall off a mountain. That would solve a lot of problems actually. But as the knights said, this is one picnic that the maiden will never forget!
Once upon a time there was a fair maiden teaching at a school in Kathmandu, Nepal. One sunny day after several days of rain and fog, the staff of this school released their captive students into the wild of Kantipur, a community a mere 45 minutes from the school. On this remote mountainside overlooking Kathmandu valley and the Himalayas the students’ bags erupted with picnic supplies from home- rice, curry, dahl, chilis- all very unusual picnic supplies for this western maiden. The teachers were provided with an excellent lunch of churrah (beaten dry rice), potato and cauliflower curry, chicken, and incredibly spicy “pickle.” A feast fit for, well, teachers on a picnic I suppose!
After eating more than they probably should have, the students quickly headed into the forest-jungle to explore this world so foreign to students held captive in the city most of the year! Following their lead, the four young male instructors from the school invited the maiden to join them on a hike through the forest-jungle in search of a better view of the valley far below. Eager to explore, the maiden jumped at the chance to hike and set out with the others, admiring the beauty and greenness of the land which had just become drunk on the rain of two days.
Enthralled with the beauty of the trees and the birds dancing between them, the maiden gazed up, ignoring the brown of the beaten path beneath her feet. Suddenly, the slick mud beneath her feet decided to move to a new home further down the mountain. With a startled cry, the maiden began to tumble down the mountain, becoming disoriented and frantic. After a few split seconds that felt like an eternity, she stopped abruptly with the help of a sudden connection of her head and knee to two large rocks. After the second of shock passed, a frantic hysteria set in, and the tears streamed down her face, making clean paths through her dirt covered face.
Suddenly, four sets of hands were trying to pull her up, this way and that, and in pain, she pulled back and begged them to let her sit for a few moments before moving, as there was throbbing pain in her elbow, knee, head and hip. She quickly composed herself, reassured that everything still moved and was still attached. The four eager yet shocked knights helped her up the mountain, back to the picnic spot where they attended to her wounds. Feeling very ashamed for ending their adventure early, she begged them to go on without her, but to no avail.
So, two set out to attain pain medicine from a small shop down the mountain a little ways while the others made sure everything did indeed move on its own and asked repeatedly to make sure she didn’t need to go to the hospital. In retrospect, she should have gone, but she was a very stubborn maiden and the only people who could get her to the hospital are her parents and her friend Katie. Besides, while there was some swelling in her knee and arm, they were still working, so, she figured she’d save the money. After about an hour’s worth of good conversation the teachers rounded up their freed children to return them to the captivity of the school.
Returning home that night, the maiden’s Uncle asked if she needed to go to the hospital, but, still stubborn (especially so because there were guests at the home), the maiden insisted that she was ok. However, the next night, the pain had increased substantially, mainly because the bruises had started to really develop and the muscles had become tight in the cool night air. As she finally explained all her injuries to Uncle including two very sore lumps on her head, he insisted that they go to the hospital the next morning to do X-rays.
Now, the maiden wasn’t sure what to expect at the hospital, as she was a little ethnocentric and couldn’t imagine that this hospital would compare to the western hospitals she was accustomed to. And she was right, it didn’t compare, at least in the building part of it. However, the emergency doctor she saw was the most peaceful, careful doctor she’d ever met, and he slowly but confidently examined her injuries one by one. After ensuring there was no brain trauma (no memory loss, no dizzieness, no pain in her brain, etc) and that it was all superficial (her skull only pained when it was touched or when she ate) he moved on to her arm and knee. Both were swollen and bruised, and he was concerned when he gently massaged her kneecap and felt something moving. To make sure it wasn’t anything serious, he ordered X-rays of both her arm and knee, stating that unless the pain in her head increased, there wasn’t anything that could be done for that anyway.
Now, for as gentle the emergency room doctor was, the X-ray technition was the polar opposite, and the maiden was sure that if her arm and knee weren’t broken before, they would be when he finished with her. As she spoke limited Nepali and he spoke limited English, the only thing he could do was move her limbs as he needed them to be. Which in turn caused some pain, to say the least! But, finally, the X-rays were finished, and the doctor looked at them, and assured the maiden that there was no damage that he could see from them. He referred her to visit a specialist the next day to make sure that he wasn’t missing anything on the X-rays. Other than that, he told her to “take rest and drink lots of water” in order to speed the healing process.
Not sure what to expect for the cost, the maiden was amazed to find out that the entire visit (X-rays, doctor’s fees, etc.) cost a mere 850 Rupees. About $11. As someone who was well acquainted with the emergency room her sophomore year of college (she made three visits in one semester, all for very valid reasons at the insistence of her friend Katie), this was an incredibly low fee. One she was very thankful for. And the moral of this story is that if you get hurt, fly to Nepal for care because the airfare may be cheaper than your medical bills in the US. But if you need X-rays, either learn Nepali before going in to see the technician or don’t get X-rays. Your choice. Or, you could not be a klutz and fall off a mountain. That would solve a lot of problems actually. But as the knights said, this is one picnic that the maiden will never forget!
Tuesday, February 9, 2010
That's the Teacher in Me!
February 6, 2010
As a teacher in Nepal, I’ve been reprimanded a number of times for not beating my students. As a teacher who will return to America and teach next year, I can’t even imagine beating my students! So, I’ve quickly become a favorite teacher and I’m supposedly the “nicest” of the higher level students, all on the basis that I don’t beat them! Now, we’re not just talking about a beating when you misbehave, but even if you don’t know the answer or are confused by the teacher’s teaching (scary, right?!). So, when I walk into the classroom to teach, all my students breathe a sigh of relief and relax in their desks, because while I expect them to learn, I’m not going to beat them if they don’t instantly understand the material!
Now before you go thinking that I’m a push-over and the kids probably walk all over me, you should know that I’m also known as the strictest teacher in our whole school, the city, and quite possibly all of Nepal! Sound like a contradiction? Yeah, I thought so too the first time they told me that! I managed to earn that name the first 4 days I proctored exams: one day in each classroom!
Here in Nepal, all the students take all the subject exams in a span of 3 days. All the upper level students are mixed into different classrooms to “prevent” cheating (I use the word prevent very loosely, as a collaborative society is clearly rising up in Nepal!). For term exams we have 8 days of testing, one for each subject. For mid terms, though, we have only 3 days of testing, with multiple tests on the same day. Well, I was thoroughly trained by Conroe High School (about 8000 times in the 1.5 years I taught there!) how to actively monitor students while they are testing to ensure that they’re not cheating.
Here we only have one aisle in the room, and there are 2-3 students crammed into the benches vaguely reminding me of pictures of the covered-wagon days in America! And the aisle we do have is about as big as a 10 year old girl, so I don’t do a whole lot of walking back and forth through the room, but I do stand for most of the exam, making sure I can see everyone. Turns out, most of the other teachers sit for the exam. In addition, I don’t allow talking (well, they’re not supposed to talk, but, I guess the other teachers don’t fight the urgent whispering breaking the silence filled with car horns and shouting in the streets!). I can’t handle talking during exams, so, I threatened to cut marks the first day I proctored an exam if the students didn’t stop talking. They didn’t stop talking so I did cut marks (rule number 1 in teaching-never make an empty threat!), and quickly everyone in the school heard all the juicy details of how MY red pen made a nasty little minus five on the top of two students exams. And they got quiet. Real fast.
So, now that I’ve established myself as the strictest teacher, I walk into the classrooms on testing days to a chorus of groans, that make me laugh and quite proud. I may not beat the students, but they sure are quiet when I’m in the room! That said, now that I’ve got a reputation that precedes me, I can relax during the exams and watch the kids. I’ve got a few short stories of the past 3 days of exams that made me really laugh inside!
Picture this: for exams, there are class 6-9 students packed into the same classroom, with ages ranging from 9-10 all the way up to 16-17 depending on when the kids started school. In the front of one classroom, there were three boys packed into a bench, which was a sight in itself. Now, the funny part was that the two outer boys were class 8 and 9 students, who were big boys, especially here in Nepal! The middle one was one of my class 6 boys who might be the smallest of all my students, class 5 included. Basically, he looked like a little flea next to a water buffalo and an elephant. And the whole exam he was battling for his small little pocket of air next to two vortexes that continuously demanded more space! I mean, his feet don’t even reach the ground when he’s sitting on the bench! So he brought his little clipboard and worked through his exams on his lap, giving them the space their size and age demanded!
Then, there were those kids who know absolutely nothing (honestly, I sometimes wonder if I gently blew into one ear would it come flowing right out the other side?!) about their classes and they get their exam and just sit and stare at it. I mean, they bore holes into it with their eyes. As if maybe, just maybe, after paying absolutely no attention to their classes for the last 4 weeks, the paper will magically produce answers for them. Or they stared out the window with their mouth half open, and I was just waiting for a little spittle to start trickling down their vacant faces! Or, my personal favorite, they start SINGING the questions to themselves in a little bird voice until my eyes bore through the tops of their heads and they look up to my laser eyes beneath raised eyebrows and immediately their jaw snaps shut with the speed of a snapping turtle! And that red pen just twirls in my fingers...
There were a number of other humorous incidents (pencils flying across the room in a hurried exchange of lead for ink and pencil boxes crashing to the floor to name just two!), but you get the idea. I’ve started entering the classrooms, laughing at the groans, and reminding them that I’m the strictest teacher once the exam starts, but the nicest one before, so they better get all their talking/shouting/gassing out before the exam starts because after that bell rings, I won’t allow any of it! They laugh at that and take me up on my offer and talk louder than all the other classrooms, but as none of the exams have begun yet, I don’t care one little iota. However, the other teachers frown slightly (I’m sure they thought I had no control during the exam time as well, but the students quickly set them straight as the teachers have asked me about my proctoring “style!”) but in the end they let my students rant and rave, knowing that at the sound of the bell you could hear a pin drop (and usually do hear a pen drop!) in the room! And at the end of the day, I go home satisfied knowing that I’ve earned the title of the nicest yet strictest teacher in the country! Sometimes, the bamboo rod just isn’t as powerful as a red pen :).
As a teacher in Nepal, I’ve been reprimanded a number of times for not beating my students. As a teacher who will return to America and teach next year, I can’t even imagine beating my students! So, I’ve quickly become a favorite teacher and I’m supposedly the “nicest” of the higher level students, all on the basis that I don’t beat them! Now, we’re not just talking about a beating when you misbehave, but even if you don’t know the answer or are confused by the teacher’s teaching (scary, right?!). So, when I walk into the classroom to teach, all my students breathe a sigh of relief and relax in their desks, because while I expect them to learn, I’m not going to beat them if they don’t instantly understand the material!
Now before you go thinking that I’m a push-over and the kids probably walk all over me, you should know that I’m also known as the strictest teacher in our whole school, the city, and quite possibly all of Nepal! Sound like a contradiction? Yeah, I thought so too the first time they told me that! I managed to earn that name the first 4 days I proctored exams: one day in each classroom!
Here in Nepal, all the students take all the subject exams in a span of 3 days. All the upper level students are mixed into different classrooms to “prevent” cheating (I use the word prevent very loosely, as a collaborative society is clearly rising up in Nepal!). For term exams we have 8 days of testing, one for each subject. For mid terms, though, we have only 3 days of testing, with multiple tests on the same day. Well, I was thoroughly trained by Conroe High School (about 8000 times in the 1.5 years I taught there!) how to actively monitor students while they are testing to ensure that they’re not cheating.
Here we only have one aisle in the room, and there are 2-3 students crammed into the benches vaguely reminding me of pictures of the covered-wagon days in America! And the aisle we do have is about as big as a 10 year old girl, so I don’t do a whole lot of walking back and forth through the room, but I do stand for most of the exam, making sure I can see everyone. Turns out, most of the other teachers sit for the exam. In addition, I don’t allow talking (well, they’re not supposed to talk, but, I guess the other teachers don’t fight the urgent whispering breaking the silence filled with car horns and shouting in the streets!). I can’t handle talking during exams, so, I threatened to cut marks the first day I proctored an exam if the students didn’t stop talking. They didn’t stop talking so I did cut marks (rule number 1 in teaching-never make an empty threat!), and quickly everyone in the school heard all the juicy details of how MY red pen made a nasty little minus five on the top of two students exams. And they got quiet. Real fast.
So, now that I’ve established myself as the strictest teacher, I walk into the classrooms on testing days to a chorus of groans, that make me laugh and quite proud. I may not beat the students, but they sure are quiet when I’m in the room! That said, now that I’ve got a reputation that precedes me, I can relax during the exams and watch the kids. I’ve got a few short stories of the past 3 days of exams that made me really laugh inside!
Picture this: for exams, there are class 6-9 students packed into the same classroom, with ages ranging from 9-10 all the way up to 16-17 depending on when the kids started school. In the front of one classroom, there were three boys packed into a bench, which was a sight in itself. Now, the funny part was that the two outer boys were class 8 and 9 students, who were big boys, especially here in Nepal! The middle one was one of my class 6 boys who might be the smallest of all my students, class 5 included. Basically, he looked like a little flea next to a water buffalo and an elephant. And the whole exam he was battling for his small little pocket of air next to two vortexes that continuously demanded more space! I mean, his feet don’t even reach the ground when he’s sitting on the bench! So he brought his little clipboard and worked through his exams on his lap, giving them the space their size and age demanded!
Then, there were those kids who know absolutely nothing (honestly, I sometimes wonder if I gently blew into one ear would it come flowing right out the other side?!) about their classes and they get their exam and just sit and stare at it. I mean, they bore holes into it with their eyes. As if maybe, just maybe, after paying absolutely no attention to their classes for the last 4 weeks, the paper will magically produce answers for them. Or they stared out the window with their mouth half open, and I was just waiting for a little spittle to start trickling down their vacant faces! Or, my personal favorite, they start SINGING the questions to themselves in a little bird voice until my eyes bore through the tops of their heads and they look up to my laser eyes beneath raised eyebrows and immediately their jaw snaps shut with the speed of a snapping turtle! And that red pen just twirls in my fingers...
There were a number of other humorous incidents (pencils flying across the room in a hurried exchange of lead for ink and pencil boxes crashing to the floor to name just two!), but you get the idea. I’ve started entering the classrooms, laughing at the groans, and reminding them that I’m the strictest teacher once the exam starts, but the nicest one before, so they better get all their talking/shouting/gassing out before the exam starts because after that bell rings, I won’t allow any of it! They laugh at that and take me up on my offer and talk louder than all the other classrooms, but as none of the exams have begun yet, I don’t care one little iota. However, the other teachers frown slightly (I’m sure they thought I had no control during the exam time as well, but the students quickly set them straight as the teachers have asked me about my proctoring “style!”) but in the end they let my students rant and rave, knowing that at the sound of the bell you could hear a pin drop (and usually do hear a pen drop!) in the room! And at the end of the day, I go home satisfied knowing that I’ve earned the title of the nicest yet strictest teacher in the country! Sometimes, the bamboo rod just isn’t as powerful as a red pen :).
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