Giving Thanks

I’m not gonna lie. Living and teaching in a foreign country is hard, especially during the holidays. This Thanksgiving, I left the 1,000+ turkey trotters in Ridgefield to enjoy their chilly 5K race, Al Roker’s always fashionable hats as he gives commentary on the giant Snoopy balloon in the Macy’s parade, and homemade brussell sprouts. For all you sprout haters out there, it’s because you haven’t tasted the ones my mom roasts, brushes with just a touch of olive oil and lemon juice, and sprinkles with salt and pepper. Oof. I’m drooling on my keyboard.

Daily life can be challenging.  Learning a new language can get frustrating. Living with eight other family members can be overwhelming. Well-planned lessons doesn’t always go…well, as planned.

But being in Nepal has also brought me immense joy. I can always count on my students to put a smile on my face. In an effort to spread the Thanksgiving spirit (I don’t know if there is such a thing, but if Christmas gets one, why should Thanksgiving get the short end of the drum stick?), I asked each of my seventh graders to say what they were thankful for during attendance this morning. Amid the repeated responses of “family,” “friends,” and “school,” I was surprised by one quiet 7^th grade girl who was squeezed on a crowded bench against the wall.

“I’m thankful for time,” she said.

Time. Hmm.

Time allows us to grow, to adjust, to create a new “normal” for ourselves. Things that I would consider unusual back in the states have now simply become a way of life. Three hour laundry sessions at the tap (these make me think twice before tossing that kurta into the laundry pile…). Frequent power outages due to Nepal’s loadshedding schedule. Eating with my hands. The sideways headshake to indicate “yes.” My time here has taught me to push past my comfort zone –sometimes wayyyy past –and realize oh, hey! I made it to the other side.

Time allows us to heal. I was devastated last week when I learned one of the grade nine students at my school committed suicide due to a failed love interest because of inter-caste social rules. The girl was 15. And this isn’t the first instance where this happened since I’ve been here. I know things like this happen in the states but it also makes me wonder how much could have been avoided if other social structures were in place (and I say this while trying to be mindful of having an egocentric “western” view). It’s not common in village life to address mental health or offer counseling programs but I’ve started to think about what types of culturally appropriate options could be made available. It’s instances like these that I think only having 4 months left is not nearly long enough.

Time also brings us surprises. While sitting at the kitchen table eating dinner a few nights ago, my aamaa asked if I wanted to go to the hospital. “Uh, sure?” I responded, followed by a muddled Nepali sentence to tell her that I wasn’t sick. No, she explained. My sister-in-law was due to have a baby! As I walked hand-in-hand with her into the delivery room of the only public hospital in town, I realized I just might be witnessing my first birth. I was a bit relieved when a few hours later I was no longer in the delivery room when she gave birth to a healthy baby boy! (He’s not yet been named –feel free to offer up your suggestions here!)

Reflecting on this past year and especially the past few months, I recognize I have much to be thankful for. I am grateful for an incredibly supportive family that has kept me inspired and grounded, even from halfway around the world. I am thankful for my friends who have made me laugh by sending me notes with glimpses of post-grad life, trading late nights and microwave mac’n’cheese for early bedtimes and busy work schedules. I am also fortunate for my new friends and family here in Nepal who have shared in my laugher, occasional frustrations, and have helped me create a sense of community. I recognize how incredibly fortunate I am to have an incredible education and the opportunity to continue to learn from my experiences. 

I, too, am thankful for time. 

What's in a Name?

Ever since kindergarten, the process of roll call has been the same. I wait for the teacher to reach the end of the alphabet and call out “Anne Wen-dell?” I then clarify that I prefer “Annie” –and really it’s Wen-duhl, but not worries –and after jotting down a few notes in the roster book, my name is set for the year. Other than a few nicknames from close friends and roommates, I’ve always been simply “Annie.”

Not so in Nepal.

In just three months here in Gorkha, I have acquired nearly a dozen new nicknames. I’ve learned that Nepali culture is highly relational and that family members have different names, depending on who is addressing them, a cultural practice that made the initial adjustment period very confusing!

At breakfast the morning after I moved in with my host family, my dai gave me my Nepali name “Amisha,” which is a combination of my didis’ (older sisters’) names. “Because you are my fourth sister,” he explained. It was certainly a warm welcome after arriving less than 24 hours before.

Then there is “bhahini,” or younger sister, the name Shanti Didi affectionately uses when she wants me to join her on the roof for morning tea. On the occasion that my aamaa needs help lugging bags of rice up or down the many flights of stairs, Aamaa calls out “Aau, Amisha Bhahadur!” meaning “Come, my strong Amisha!” Although my stomach may not be benefitting from eating all this rice, my arms are certainly getting a workout!

Sometimes I'm even "Amy"...

When I enter the classroom, I immediately become “MISSSS!!!” My students seem to think if they repeat my name louder than their neighbor, I will immediately rush to their assistance and unfortunately my classroom management skills to demonstrate otherwise are still a work in progress. But it doesn’t end there. There’s even nicknames in the staffroom. The senior female teacher uses a pet name to check in with me every morning, “Thik chha, kanchi churi?” referring to me as her little girl.

I arrive home from school every day to a small welcoming party in front of the shop. Bauju, my sister-in-law, pats the stool next to her, motioning for me to sit. “For Annie myaah,” “Annie my love,” she says. However I don’t usually remain sitting for long; Stutat will grab at my hands, hoping to pull me to a nearby shop for an afternoon chocolate fix. “Enu!” he calls out, a combination of “Nunu,” or “big sis” and Annie –I’m still not quite sure how that one evolved, but it has stuck!

In addition to learning to respond to all these new names, I’ve also made progress in learning more of the names of my (nearly) 150 students (although I still get mixed up with the Sanjita, Sunita, Sasita and three Saritas that are all in class seven!). It’s slow going but has lead to great results now that I’m able to personally engage students in the classroom!

How rice is harvested?

After eating mountains of rice for two meals a day since arriving in Gorkha (that’s over 150 platefuls), I figured it was time to figure out where, exactly, this rice was coming from.

Jeanie, Kelly, and I made the trek to the neighboring village of Swara to see the endless steps of rice paddies and to pick a few of the famous Swara oranges.

Our question was answered during our impromptu “tour” of the fields given to us by the husband of Jeanie’s co-teacher. He explained how rice is harvested between October and December, using only a sickle, and spread out to dry in the sun. It is then gathered into bundles and beaten against the ground to separate the grains from the stalks. Unfortunately, rice harvesting is also the reason many of our students won’t be showing up to school during these next few weeks. Families may require their children to stay at home, rather than going off to school, to help in the fields while the crops are ripe.

As our tour continued, I was a bit embarrassed to admit that my knowledge of fruit-bearing trees is mostly limited to the produce aisle in the grocery store. Our guide pointed out every tree we walked by, and asked, “Taha chha? Do you know?”

Each time we scanned the branches, looking for a plump, if somewhat unripe, answer to his question. The banana and orange trees were easy and the pineapple plant was unique enough to spot. But the root plants were a bit more challenging. I’ve never seen a ginger plant before but was promptly introduced. We even enjoyed fresh peanuts, straight from the field. He dug them right out of the ground, and after brushing off some of the dirt, dropped a few into our hands. They were the most delicious peanuts I’ve had. No roasting. No salt. Just a few grains of dirt to give them a little crunch. Mmm-mm!

Like every good tour guide, our friend saved the best surprise for last (and no, we never ended up in an overpriced gift shop). We rounded the corner and came across a giant wooden rotating ping swing, which resembles a Ferris wheel with swings for seats. Two men were busy operating it by quickly jumping on each of the spokes as it circled by, making the kids scream with delight as they flew precariously through the air. After some pushing and shoving by the crowd that had gathered, the three of us found ourselves clinging our small benches and hurdling around in circles –picture an old rickety rollercoaster without seatbelts!

Christmas, Continued

November 1

If Dashain felt like Christmas, then the five-day Tihar festival here in Gorkha bazaar was like being in the North Pole –and not because of the temperature (although it has started to get cold enough to see my breath during my morning walks).

Houses and shops were decked out with strings of lights, some which flashed and a few fancy ones even played music. On one occasion I swear I heard the tinkle of “Silent Night.” Instead of the reindeer statues and inflatable Frostys scattered across front lawns, families crafted rangalas on the cement steps in front of their houses. I watched my dai as he carefully drew the outline of a pointsetta-looking flower and fill it in with colored powder. And then it was my turn. Although the result wasn’t as elegant (I had “help” from my 3-year old brother), I got the seal of approval from some of the neighbors who had gathered around to watch.

Tihar is the annual Nepali festival of bread and light celebrated after Dashain, thus prolonging the holiday season (and an additional excuse for a school holiday!). Families once again gather for celebration, worshipping various animals, gift giving, and eating.

The plates of meat during Dashain were replaced with baskets of roti, a type of fried dough, made especially for Tihar. The preparation process reminded me of days spent in the kitchen decorating Christmas cookies…although we traded frosting and sprinkles for bags of frying oil. We filled an entire room with this sweet, greasy treat–even more than a week later, I’ve continued to feed off of the seemingly never-ending supply!

At home, my family often spends Christmas Eve peering out of frosty windows pointing out blinking airplane taillights to our youngest cousin, whispering, “Look! It’s Rudolph’s nose!” During Tihar, however, we were in search of a different four-legged friend. Cows are sacred here in Nepal (to kill a cow means an immediate jail sentence, which has made the concept of a hamburger a bit difficult to explain…). On the day of gia puja, “cow prayer,” Stutat and I walked hand-in-hand through the neighborhood to find a one of these holy animals. Breaking off our rachahbandhan bracelets we received two months ago, we fed the cow some freshly fried roti as a distraction while tying the bracelet threads to its tail. According to Hindu culture, this ensures your entrance into heaven.

But cows weren’t the only ones getting decorated for the holiday. On ‘brother/sister day,’ the males in my family received not one, not two, but seven different colored tikka in a line down their foreheads. My three other sisters and I carefully applied these powders after draping strings of popcorn and flower malas around their necks and handing them baskets of dried fruit and nuts. My dai explained how this holiday of gift-giving is meant to strengthen the bond between brothers and sisters (Bobby and Eliza, get ready for when I get home!). And in return, my dai presented me with a gift of two beautiful bronze Newari vases “to take home so I will always remember my Nepali family.”

And then ther's my 73-year old aamaa
playing on the "ping"!

And who can forget music and dancing? During the evenings for these five days (and “unofficially” for some days after!), a special dosirae song could be heard tinkling through various parts of the village. Like Christmas caroling, groups of children and adults alike dressed in their warmest attire and gathered in front of doorways and shops to sing, dance –and grab unsuspected foreigners who just wanted to watch. Yes, my fame from Teej earned me hours of dancing with my 10^th grade students in the middle of the streets. It’s tradition for dancers to show off their rehearsed moves until shop owners and residents bring out plates of rice, roti and rupees. The longer they dance, the more money they receive. Basically your Nepali dance marathon!

Tigers, Politicians, and Other Hairy Animals

When I last spoke to Mom on the phone, she asked me, “Have you seen any cool wildlife in Gorkha?”

Unfortunately the routine spotting of goats, cows, buffalo, pigs, chicken, spiders, lizards, dogs, and cats isn’t much to write home about. Even the occasional monkey sighting around school has become my new norm.

But there’s a rumor that a big, scary dumsi can be found wandering around the neighborhood. It’s a terrifying monster that has sharp claws, big eyes, and prickly “fur.” And it seems to make an appearance whenever Stutat starts acting up.

It’s English name: porcupine.

It took me about a month to understand that the dumsi that conveniently “lives” in the house behind ours is the fictional threat used the minute Stutat begins one of his temper tantrums. “Oh, you better stop, Stutat –the dumsi will hear you! Oh, Dumsi! Please come take Stutat away!” my Dai will call. Essentially it’s the Nepali boogyman for children.

Although the dumsi might be a fictional threat to keep Stutat in check, the tigers that have been spotted roaming in the neighborhood where Jeanie and I go for our morning walks are real! Lions and tigers and bears –oh my! Now I know we’re not in Kansas anymore, but I hadn’t exactly made a plan if I should happen upon a tiger in Gorkha. My knowledge of how to manage a wild tiger is pretty much limited to The Life of Pi and The Hangover, neither of which will be very helpful if a Nepalese tiger decides we would make a good morning meal. Needless to say, we’ve since altered our route for the time being…

However, tigers aren’t the only thing that have altered travel plans in Gorkha. Now that Dashain is over, election season is well underway. On November 19^th, citizens will vote for members of Congress to form the first Nepali Constitutional Assembly. After a history of political unrest and national conflict that ended a decade ago, there has been movement to make Nepal a democratic state and forming this Constitutional Assembly would be a big step in that direction. It is the second attempt at a national constitution after the first assembly four years ago failed to bring about a formal document.

With over 100 political parties (my teachers are amazed when I explain the bi-partisan politics of the U.S.), Nepali politicians have their own methods of campaigning. Last week Gorkha had a traffic bhund, where all traffic was stopped from leaving or entering Gorkha as one of the parties held a demonstration just up the street from my house. Posters were pasted to every available flat surface and houses and shops were decorated with flags.

Although it has been interesting to observe the campaign season of another country, it has made teaching challenging. There are two more weeks to go until election day, but already teachers have been warned that there will be school closures for political bhunds and election official trainings leading up to the big day. Fingers crossed we’ll be able to keep a regular schedule long enough to get through the lesson in passive voice for grade 6…

Some Days You're the Teacher...And Some Days You're the Student

I remember the shock I first received back in elementary school when I ran into one of my teachers outside of school. What? You mean they don’t live in that mysterious room down the hall called the “Staff Lounge”? They wear normal clothes like everyone else? They get their groceries at Stop & Shop? Is that even allowed??

However, in Nepal, if you happen to step outside onto the roof in your pajamas to catch a glimpse of the valley in the early morning light, you will get students raising their hands to ask about your choice of sleepwear during period 1 English class. Sometimes they show up in your living room with their older siblings for tea. And there’s nothing quite like having one of your 6^th graders help wash your socks and underwear at the local tap…

Before coming to Nepal, I thought I had a pretty good grasp of washing clothes by hand. I spent many mosquito-filled mornings in the Solomon Islands scrubbing away at my skirts, knowing that by the time I arrived at school, I’d inevitably be drenched in sweat. To save money, I used the sink in my South African apartment on more than one occasion. But I should’ve known by the disastrous red dye incident back in Kathmandu that washing clothes here in Nepal would be a bit more challenging than I anticipated. 

The problem seems to be that every person has a slightly different way they choose to wash their clothes. Some people rinse under the running water. Others first soak in suds. Then there’s the choice between scrubbing on the ground or on the raised concrete blocks around the tap. And this isn’t even taking into account the personal preference of the red or green bars of soap sold in the market.

I know that if I combine water, soap, and a little elbow grease, my clothes will (hopefully) be cleaner than when I arrive at the sunken stone tap. However, each person has a different opinion on how the confused American should wash her clothes. This morning it was one of my 6^th graders who came to my rescue, grabbing my bundle of kurtas and expertly going to work with the bar of soap. Despite my attempts at lending a hand, she insisted on doing each piece herself, giving me instructions (in Nepali, of course) of the ‘right’ way to do it.

After an hour of dunking and scrubbing, brushing and wringing, I had soaked clothes, pruney hands, and deflated ego. But most importantly, I had clean clothes. Although now looking back, perhaps I should have been taking notes…there might be a pop quiz at the tap next weekend…

Trick-or-Treat!

October 31

If you’ve never attempted to explain the concept of Halloween and trick-or-treating to someone who is unfamiliar with the holiday, you may not realize how absurd it sounds.

Kids seek out the scariest costume they can find –the more fake blood and guts, the better –and are sent out into the dark night to knock on strangers’ doors and return hyped up on an unhealthy amount of sugar with the high likelihood they will wake in the middle of the night with nightmares.

Hmm.

Although this wasn’t exactly the way we portrayed the holiday to our 10^th grade ACCESS students at our Halloween program, it made me think about the holidays and how we choose to celebrate them in the U.S. After many hours of planning with the other ETAs, our program was a hit. Our students enjoyed ghost stories, mask making and Halloween themed English grammar lesson (yes, yes, you role your eyes, but we first won them over with candy!).

My attempts to introduce a few Halloween “essentials” to my Nepali family were not quite as successful. At home, my family would spend a few hours huddled around the kitchen table, each person planning the perfect jack-o-lantern design. As we got older the designs got more and more intricate (sometimes to Dad’s chagrin, since he would be left with carving the itty bitty cutouts we insisted upon).

So, I thought, what better way to introduce Halloween than carving a jolly ol’ Jack for the kitchen table? However, after setting up the carving station and going to look for a knife (it seems like this is one thing our handy dandy chulessi isn’t suitable for), I returned to the kitchen to find that my soon to be jack-o-lantern was turned into dinner!

The way I see it, my family is simply getting into the Halloween spirit with the trick-or-treating! Perhaps we’ll have a bit more luck celebrating Thanksgiving…