The Itsy Bitsy Spider

August 27

Spandan and Stuath like to help me color my flashcards for class. As soon as they spot me walking home from school, they call out from the open window to the street below, “Didi! Color!”

Within a few minutes, there are dozens of 3x5 index cards sprawled across my bedroom floor mixed in with a tangle of arms, legs, and colored pencil shavings.

Stuath has taken an affinity to the “S” cards over the past few days and yesterday asked “Yo ke ho? What is this?” as he reached for “spider.”

Now, I’ve never had a problem with spiders. I don’t mind rescuing a few lost arachnids that find their way into bags, boots, or (my personal favorite) the corner of the wall next to my pillow.

But quite honestly, I’m not the biggest fan of the big, brown, and hairy spider that has made its home in my toilet. It’s nowhere near itsy. It’s definitely not bitsy. And it has made going to the bathroom a very complicated process.

So this morning, it was time for battle royal. Armed with a water gun borrowed from Stuath’s collection of toys and courage from a huge second helping of dhal bhat for breakfast, I marched into the bathroom to face my eight-legged opponent.

Nepali spiders must have some kind of ninja training. Or find some kind of energy drink to snack on. Either way, this one was fast and had made up his mind that he wasn’t going anywhere. However, after a nearly fatal battle (for both me and the spider –tile floors become very slippery when wet!), I emerged soaked, yet victorious.

Annie: 1. Toilet Spider: 0.

Finger Painting...with Food!

August 24

Being in Nepal, I’ve realized that there are times when I feel as if I am five-years old again.

I am relearning how to eat. It turns out eating rice with your hands takes practice. I’ve mastered scooping the potato and green bean curries into my mouth, but as hard as I try I can’t seem to coax the last few grains of rice off my plate as gracefully as my other family members, including my 7-year-old sister. I guess I’m still working on becoming a member of the clean plate club. I also have to practice not making a 6-inch splash zone all the way around my plate…

I have, however, enjoyed the phrase “finger-lickin’ good,” since I’ve learned that to clean your hands after finishing is to give all your fingers a good ol’ lick. Mmm mm.

I get to carry a lunch box again. More specifically, a bright pink plastic one borrowed from Spandan. On the morning of my second day of school, Anita called me into the kitchen and handed me my snack she had packed in the cartoon-covered lunchbox. The other teachers have loved teasing me about it almost as much as they love sharing the freshly made roti that’s inside.

I play dress-up on a regular basis. Having an American in the house has been a novelty not only for Spandan and Stuath but for the adults as well, especially Aamaa and Shanti. In preparation for the upcoming woman’s festival, Tij, Shanti raided her closet and has been coaching me on the proper way to wear the crazy red hairpiece, green beaded necklaces and red tikka. The next step: getting fitted for a red sari to wear for the occasion!

Being in a house of three teachers (in addition to Dai, my aamaa and baa are both retired teachers), I’ve been getting a lot of Nepali lessons. Aamaa has enjoyed teaching me Nepali children songs to help with my vocabulary and I’m currently learning one about a tortoise and a hare (I think, based on her accompanying hand motions!)

How many Nepalis does it take to change a lightbulb?

August 22

The answer: seven, including Stuath who lay sprawled across my bed, munching happily on puffed rice, and a slightly embarrassed American who felt terrible that her dai had to go out in the rain looking for an electrician to fix the broken bedroom light. I guess that’s what happens when the Mary Poppins’ bag comes out too early…

Yes, Stuath, had a blast with the juggling balls. However, what began as a fun dance party in my room soon became a contest to see who could throw the balls as hard as they could at the ceiling. Not surprisingly, Stuath won at his own game and the overhead light came crashing down. Soon there was an army of fast-talking family members (and some friends who stopped by to witness the show) milling about my small bedroom, shining flashlights and headlamps into outlets and flipping light switches on and off. At one point Dai got up onto the lovely ‘go-bucket’ that has taken up residence in my room and after balancing precariously on it managed to hook the light back into the ceiling. Turns out the go-bucket has been useful after all…

Om Shanti

August 21

Today was a holiday, Ganai Purnimaa, and I went with Dai, Stuath, Spandan and Urmika, my cousin, to Om Shanti, which to my understanding is a prayer room for a certain sect of Hinduism. There we received our tikka and “rakshaa” –a gold thread tied around the wrist for protection. Traditionally, it is customary for sisters to give their brothers a tikka and rakshaa in return for a gift or money. (Although I had no gift for Stuath, he took the opportunity to fall asleep in my bed. Yes, he clearly has me wrapped around his finger…) 

First Day of School! First Day of School!

August 20

After an early morning start (you can only sleep in until about 6am with a buffalo moo-ing outside your bedroom window…), I took tea with my family and entertained Stuath and Spandan while Anita did her prayers in the small worship room.

Here in Gorkha, mornings are slow-paced and savored –instead of rushing out to work with a travel mug of coffee, families take their first two meals of the day together, one of which is, you guessed it –dhal bhaat! I watched as the bazaar rumbled to life, shops rolling open their gates, revealing bangles, boots, bananas and everything in between. My dai headed off to school with a “Namaste! Tapaaiko din raamro hos! Have a nice day!” and I soon set off for the short walk to Mahendra Jyoti.

I met with my co-teacher Shova-Miss a few minutes before the first period bell rang and we walked together into class 7, where I opened with my rehearsed introduction:

“Namaste! Mero naam Annie ho. Mero desh America ho. Ma yahah sot mahinah baschu ra malaai Nepal ekdam raamro laagchha.”

Before I could take a seat in the back of the class where I had intended to observe for my first day, Shova-Miss flipped open the textbook to “Unit 9: Expressing Obligations and Giving Instructions,” handed me the textbook and said, “You teach? Thik chha?”

Oh boy. So much for taking a few days to observe.

It was in that split second of “what-the-heck-am-I-going-to-do?” moment when I realized how grateful I am for my Solomon Islands teaching experience, as well as the past four weeks of Christine’s training. Both helped me at least feel a bit confident in taking a class if not completely prepared.

I soon found Christine’s advice to be true: students, especially the older ones, have been trained to copy directly from the blackboard and repeat whatever the teacher says. It is going to be a challenge to get them to do more interactive and improvisational activities, which will eventually help them with communication skills. And managing a class of 56 seventh graders may prove to be a bigger challenge, including trying to match unfamiliar names with 56 faces squeezed in close together in the small classrooms.

After feeling out the classroom dynamics, I decided to try out Christine’s tried and true “run to the board” game. Students, two at a time, ran to the board to be the first to select the correct time from a choice of analog clocks. It was a tie of girls versus boys –there will be a tie-breaker to determine the winner on Thursday!

Although I returned home exhausted and a bit overwhelmed after similar periods teaching in grades 5, 7, and 8 (I’ll spare you the details of my attempt to sing a chant in class 5, at the request of the teacher), I am optimistic and excited to begin teaching and working with teachers at Mahendra Jyoti for the next few months!

Peeling Potatoes

August 19

So it turns out that Nepali potatoes are much smaller than the supersized American balls of starch.

Moving in with my new host family this afternoon, I had my clumsy first attempt at using the ancient, and clearly loved, potato peeler as I helped prepare the evening dahl bhaht. As my new host sister-in-law, Anita, kept a watchful eye over me from where she stood by the stovetop, I quickly came to understand why a potato peeler was on the list of suggested host gifts. While she gracefully ground lentils on the stone tablet, I made slow progress with the basket of homegrown potatoes in front of me.

I sat in the fading light of the kitchen, taking in the last few hours of moving in with my new Newari host family, the Shresthas. I had been welcomed in true Nepali style with more tea and biscuits than I could ever possibly digest and had been introduced to my new family members. My aamaa (mother), Sarroti, lives with her husband (my baa), Hari Pradha and other extended family members in the middle of Gorkha Bazaar (aka the market where all the action happens). Their son (my dai), Eksha Kumar, is a math teacher at a nearby school and thankfully speaks better English than I do Nepali! His wife (my bhaujyu), Anita has taken me in and has decided to teach me to cook (and eat!) like a Nepali. Which means I will soon resemble a potato. And not just a Nepali potato, but a big ol’ starchy American one.   

My aamaa and baa have two other sons and three daughters, one of whom, Shanti, also lives with us. Together they all help care for my dai and bhaujyu’s two beautiful children. My new bhahini (younger sister), Spandan, is seven years old and has to fight for the spotlight with her bai (younger brother), Stuath. And then there’s me, “Amisha Shrestha,” which is my new Nepali name and a combination of all the Shrestha sister names!

The dozens of potato eyes staring back at me from the basket were much like the ones on the street of Gorkha Bazaar, each pair belonging to a community member wondering why in the world there was an American hanging out in Anita’s small convenience shop. Anita pointed out notable people in the neighborhood –“a teacher at Mohendra Jyoti!” referring to a woman in a pink kurta surwhal uniform, riding on the back of a motorbike as it zoomed past. I will be meeting the rest of the teachers tomorrow on my first day of school.

Back in the kitchen, Anita handed me a tool that looked like it came straight out of a medieval torture chamber. She called in a “chulissi” and it came in handy not only for paring potatoes but also as a plastic bag opener, pear peeler, and cucumber dicer. It has infomercial material written all over it.

But wait! There’s more!

Every kitchen guru also knows that potatoes take time to cook. Stuath and Spandan are still warming up to the idea of a new didi in the house –although Stuath seems to have found my weak spot for him already and knows he can pretty much get away with anything. That’s a lot of power for a three-year-old.

I should have learned from years of babysitting experience it’s not a good idea to leave your pen and open notebook on the kitchen table…

And in return, I am still adjusting to a much more sedentary lifestyle (which will speed along the process of achieving the perfect potato figure!) and only understanding a small fraction of any given conversation. However, I have been quite entertained by the Nepali music videos and soap operas my aamaa insists on showing me on TV. From what I understand every dramatic emotional scene is accompanied by a five-minute Bollywood dance clip. Some have been so absurd it’s all I can do not to burst out laughing!

Go-Buckets

Two weeks ago when we were first introduced to the idea of a “go-bag” during an orientation session at the U.S. Embassy, we laughed at the thought of carting around a bag stuffed with an axe, crowbar, and other items necessary in the event of an earthquake. With our faces half covered by masks used to avoid breathing in the dust and pollution on the roads, lugging around these packages would only enhance the image of 9 bank robbers walking the streets of Kathmandu.

Virginia loves her new go-bucket!

As the safety and security briefing continued, our lecturer explained that the Kathmandu valley is situated over a fault line and that an earthquake would have devastating effects on the unstable building structures throughout the city. (On second thought, Mom and Dad, why don’t you skip to the next paragraph?) Due to the regularity of seismic movements in Nepal’s history, we’ve been told that Nepal is “overdue for a big one.” This could mean anytime in the next 5 days or 50 years. I’m banking on the fact that Mother Nature also operates on Nepali time!

Rachel, too!

At the insistence of the embassy, we’ve been issued our own go-bags to take with us to our site placements. Or should I say “go-buckets.” We arrived at the Fulbright office yesterday to find nine 50-gallon blue plastic barrels waiting for their new owners. Not only are they filled with all the essentials, they could probably also serve as a personal life raft if Noah’s ark was not accessible.

"#12: Trap?" Perhaps we're meant to catch our own food to eat during an earthquake? (Note: We later found out it was a misspelling of "tarp." It was a bit of a relief...)

While we joke about actually using the axe and hammer and trying to boil the 2 kg of rice provided, there’s something comforting about feeling prepared for an unexpected natural force. In a way, I’ve accumulated my own “go-bag” to bring with me into the classroom, filling it with ideas for games, songs, crafts, and other activities that make me feel more prepared for the teaching that lies ahead. (Although hopefully my method of classroom management won’t be “drop, cover, and hold on!”)

Leaving for Gorkha bright and early Monday morning – more details to come after getting settled in!

Sharing a couch while waiting for the rain to pass...monsoon season brings everyone together!

Out to celebrate the end of orientation!

Exploring the Saturday morning farmer's market!

Where the Sidewalk Ends

Mrs. Shea, my first grade teacher, used to read stories to our class after recess. My favorite days were when she selected Shel Silverstein’s poems from the bookshelf that stood in the corner, almost hidden under layers of drying cut-and-paste spelling word pages. I was (and still am!) mesmerized by the goofy words and the black and white drawings scribbled across the pages. A giraffe that stretched another half with rat in his hat, looking cute in a suit, with a rose on his nose? Why not?

Years later, Silverstein still remains one of my favorite poets. Every time I step out of our apartment in Kathmandu, I’ve been reminded of his poem, “Where the Sidewalk Ends:”

There is a place where the sidewalk ends

And before the street begins,

And there the grass grows soft and white,

And there the sun burns crimson bright,

And there the moon-bird rests from his flight

To cool in the peppermint wind.

Let us leave this place where the smoke blows black

And the dark street winds and bends.

Past the pits where the asphalt flowers grow

We shall walk with a walk that is measured and slow,

And watch where the chalk-white arrows go

To the place where the sidewalk ends.

Yes we'll walk with a walk that is measured and slow,

And we'll go where the chalk-white arrows go,

For the children, they mark, and the children, they know

The place where the sidewalk ends.

I’m reminded of this because the dusty air that carries the (sometimes not-so-faint) sour smell of trash isn’t quite a peppermint wind. I doubt the taxi drivers know the speed “measured and slow.” And with our current neighborhood construction, there is hardly any sidewalk to boast of at all. It seems we spend more time jumping from curb to curb trying to find where the sidewalk actually begins.

But just yesterday I was reminded about the children in the poem, and in this case, the students I met on my day of “practice” teaching. Two other ETAs, Jeanie and Martha, and I approached the closed door in the neighborhood primary school where we would get our first taste of teaching in Nepali public schools. We were going to teach location prepositions to a fifth grade class. Or at least that was the plan.

We had spent hours over the past few days structuring lesson plans, coloring story cards, and carefully writing out the lyrics to an improvised memorization chant. (FYI, we’ve found you can do a lot with the tune “Mary had a Little Lamb”) But despite this preparation, I felt a little more like a contestant on a game show than a teacher walking into her class. Ladies and gentlemen, let’s see what’s behind door number three…

Swinging it open with a loud “NAMASTE!” we were greeted by thirty pairs of bright eyes and grins that had more space in between teeth than students on the benches. I could almost feel the energy bouncing off the blue cement walls. We’ve been brainstorming activities, games, and songs for the past few weeks, but it wasn’t until we were in front of actual students that teaching became alive.

Yes, there was a crazy 5-minute distraction when a giant (and I mean giant!) wasp flew in through the open window. My off-key singing of our chant was also nothing to write home about. And yet I couldn’t help leaving the classroom with a big goofy grin, inspired and rejuvenated to begin my new teaching assignment next week in Gorkha.

While our made up story about Santosh the elephant looking for the peanut hidden by Sita the mouse to teach prepositions isn’t quite Silverstein material, perhaps it can offer a beginning to where the sidewalk ends. 

Who you gonna call? Ghostbusters!

It was a dark and stormy night…

After a long day of final school visits on Monday, Kelly and I decided to stop by our favorite Vietnamese restaurant across the street from our apartment. Stomachs full of banana lassie and delicious vegetable pho and brains full of Nepali words that just won’t seem to stick, we stepped out onto the street. We were surprised by the unexpected greeting of wild shouting, torches of fire and a swarm of boys running through the traffic. My first thought was bhand! These strikes are common in Nepal and shut down roads and businesses (and consequently schools, as we will soon experience) as a political protest.

But instead of deserted streets and closed businesses, Nepalis were flocking to the street to witness the commotion. Out of the darkness, we saw a painted white figure sprinting in and out of the beeping taxis and tempos, followed by a mass of young boys chasing him and dragging a small, leafy tree.

Turns out I’ve seen my first Nepali ghost!

In some of the traditional tribal customs, Monday marked the celebration of the “ghost festival.” Stemming from Hindu belief, the soul cannot be destroyed and therefore “bhoots,” or ghosts, haunt the earth with unfinished business. Some traditions call for a ritual called atma-shanti, which is a modified shraadh (death anniversary) in which those haunted promise the rebirth of the ghost or finishing their works. Others celebrate festivals, such as this one, to ward off ghosts, repelling the bad luck they bring with them.

After chasing the painted ghost-man back up the street, it looks like our bad luck is taken care of for the next year!

In addition to supernatural sightings, this week has also been exciting, as the other ETAs and I sat down with plates of momos and selected our school placements for the year! (In case you haven’t already noticed, a lot of what we do revolves around food. And Nepali milk tea. It might even be more fitting to call us “EATs”…) You are now reading the blog of a proud new English teacher at Mohendra Joti Secondary School in Gorkha! I will be working closely with four English teachers at the school to teach in grades six and seven. Like all of the other school placements, Mohendra Joti is a governmental school, serving students in the Dalite community. However it is unique in that it not only has a community for mentally challenged students, but is also the district resource center, offering teacher training and development workshops, which I hope to get involved in.

We will repack our bags (which have gotten significantly more bulky from the purchase of new kurtas, books, and teaching supplies) and head out a week from Monday! Until then, we still have a bit more Nepali to work on…

Learning to Juggle

Although the small plot of corn behind our apartment in the city is nice and the constant car, truck, and bicycle horns keep you on your toes while walking down the street, Gorkha was a pleasant reprieve after the hectic, dusty making-it-hard-to-breathe-but-muddy-enough-to-make-your-shoes-get-stuck atmosphere of Kathmandu. The other ETAs and I spent the week visiting potential schools and homestay families and in an a

ttempt to avoid giving a running play-by-play of every magical moment, I’ve compiled a list of this week’s highlights (which may or may be a direct result of watching SportCenter’s Top 10 growing up…)

1.  Laundry rules still apply –i.e. always separate your whites from your colors. Especially when bucket washing a new red kurta for the first time. But then again, maybe you prefer a new slightly pink wardrobe like me…

We’ve also turned our apartment common room into a temporary laundromat as it’s proven challenging to dry clothes during monsoon season here in Kathmandu. It seems as though the skies open up just as we leave the office for the day, soaking our dry laundry by the time we get back to the apartment. It gives the “fresh rain” detergent scent a whole new meaning.

2. While I have always managed to get by in Zumba classes (meaning I usually end up in the same direction as everyone else without stepping on any toes or hitting someone with my flailing arms), I’m going to need a bit more practice to master the hip and hand coordination for Bollywood dancing. A few of us tried our luck in a dance class last weekend and had a blast, although I don’t think we’ll be scouted for any Bollywood music videos any time soon.

3. Nepal has both hills and mountains and the Nepalese are quick to mark the difference between the two. It’s not just the words (here’s where I’ll shamelessly show off my Nepali –“Daadaa” means “hill,” “pahahd” is mountain, while “himal” refers to a snow-covered mountain…yep, just like the Himalayas). We’ve done some “beginner trekking” to visit Buddhist temples and am always amazed by how Nepali worshippers aren’t dripping with sweat like we are by the time they get there!. How are these only considered hills? But rounding the bend on our way into Gorkha, we caught a teeny tiny glimpse of the Himalayas in the distance. Ok, these are the mountains I’ve read about. They are absolutely stunning. While the Himalayas remain mostly hidden behind clouds during monsoon season, we’ve been promised an incredible view when the skies clear in a few months. “They’re like the trailer for a movie,” our guide told us. “You’ll have to come back to see the whole show.”

4. I’ve been reminded over and over that you’re never too old for playground games. Christine Stone has continued with her classroom preparation training and we spend hours coloring, cutting, gluing, hand-clapping, foot-stomping, and chanting as we put together our “teacher’s toolbox.” I can only imagine what it must look like to passerbys who may witness a group of 20-something-year olds being chased around the office parking lot by an elderly British woman and her barking dog as she demonstrates how to play “What time is it Mr. Fox?”

Despite the warnings we’ve received of how the next seven months will be challenging, I’m excited to finally get in the classroom and start teaching!

5. Adjusting to life in a new country is like learning how to juggle (and thanks to our fellow ETA and juggling teacher, Peter, we’re attempting to do that as well!) The past two weeks have been exhilarating, yet exhausting as I attempt to balance Nepali language practice, preparing lesson plans and supplies, bonding with my fellow ETAs and making time for personal reflection. It’s learning give and take. Toss. Toss. Toss. Catch. Catch. Catch.

Rachel and Jeanie learning how to juggle!

6.     Caste hierarchy is still prevalent and is used as a way of arranging parts of Nepali society, directly affecting the education system we will be working in. Members of higher castes have the economic ability to send their children to “boarding,” or private schools, where English language training begins earlier than in the governmental public schools. Dalits, on the other hand, are economically disadvantaged and therefore can only afford to send their children (or often times only the boys) to governmental schools

7.     If someone asks if you’re married and you respond “no- mero bihah bhayako chaina,” more often than not, they will immediately try and set you up with a son, brother, nephew or grandson, keeping with the tradition of arranged marriages. I’ve already gotten an offer…

The idea of a ‘love marriage’ is still a relatively new concept, although is growing in popularity with the younger generations, especially in the more developed, urban areas.

8.     “Chiyya chuTTi” is my new favorite phrase to hear. It translates to “tea break” and I have yet to be disappointed with the delicious Nepali milk tea! Chiyya chuTTi can happen at any point in the day and is commonly used as a show of hospitality. I lost count of the number of cups of tea I drank while visiting home stay placements!

9.     Traffic will teach you patience. On our way home from Gorkha, we got to experience our first “road widening” traffic jam. The narrow road that serves as the only route out of the city and into the hills is under construction to provide more space for the trucks that constantly break down. You learn to sit back, relax, practice Nepali and gaze out the window to see…an elephant?

10. Having some extra toilet paper with you always comes in handy. Enough said.  

More photos are up on facebook, but here are some personal favorites: 

Prayer flags at Swayambhuanth

Stupa at Bhouda

Traditional dhaal baat meal

Welcome to Gorkha!