Shave and a Haircut

I walk past a barbershop on my way to school every day. Even at 9am, it is bustling with activity and groups of men gather around the two simple stools with steaming cups of Nepali chiya from the teashop next door. Peter, another ETA, swears by the 30-cent shaves and praises the invigorating head massages (which, as a bystander, actually look quite painful, so we just take his word for it!).

Yet, last week I discovered that some of my students prefer to skip out on trips to the barbershop in favor of more “original” hairstyles.

Walking into class 6 (yes, the same students who will be hiding away in my duffle bags), my eye immediately landed on Rishi, who was sitting in the front row. What IS that on his chin? I thought.

“Cheers, Miss!” he said mischievously, extending his hand for our daily high-five greeting. As I neared the bench, I could see it was an inch-long lock of hair attached below his lower lip by a piece of Scotch tape.

“Rishi? What…Why…Whose hair is that?” I asked. He grinned up at me, causing half of his makeshift beard to detach from his chin, and shrugged. The sudden commotion from the back of the room, however, immediately revealed the culprits.  

It turns out I had walked into the “Grade Six Shree Mahendra Jyoti Barbershop,” which in the short gap between classes had been full of interested customers. The remnants of this business endeavor were not limited to homemade goatees; a group of boys now sported rather patchy haircuts from a pair of old, rusty sewing scissors.

Needless to say, this isn’t exactly what I had in mind when I introduced the adjective unit a few weeks back. We started by going around the room, talking about hair –color, length and texture – and they enjoyed making up motions to the following chant:

“People, people, many people

All shapes and sizes

Some are short

And some are tall

Some have long curly hair

And some have none all.”

While I admire my students’ entrepreneurial spirit, I’m a bit relieved I got to class before my barbershop boys had a chance to test out the last line!

Dear Mom and Dad,

I may be coming home with more than just the typical yak wool mittens and prayer flag souvenirs. There are a lot of them –sixty-four to be exact –and can’t be easily stuffed into my luggage along with my hiking boots and sleeping bag.

You see, my sixth grade class may or may not believe that they’ll be coming home with me…

It started out as a casual lesson on future tense. We were working on a writing exercise using “I will” sentences to talk about future holiday plans. To get them started, I posted prompts on the board: Where will you go? With whom will you go? Where will you stay? How long will you be visiting?

As I walked around the classroom, a group of chatty girls were unusually quiet, scribbling away in their notebook, whispering and giggling with one another. I asked what they were planning to do for their holiday.

In her typical, dramatic fashion, Diya proudly stood up and read, “I will go to U.S.A. with Annie Miss and I will travel in her bag. I will stay in Annie Miss’s house for two years. I will find a job and live there.”

Before she could sit down, hands shot up around the classroom. “Me too, Annie Miss! I’m coming too!” they started shouting.

Jokingly, I told them I didn’t think the airline would let me on with that many bags.

But my sixth graders are quick problem solvers and without missing a beat, they started choosing partners to share a piece of luggage with. “See Annie Miss? We can all fit on the plane!”

This is just a warning in case I’m stalled for a while at the baggage claim making sure I didn’t lose Rishi, Sourmaya, Kailash, Anousha, Sasita, Dammer, Umesh and the rest of the grade six stowaways…

Why Are You Smiling?

Returning home from my morning run, I was a few shops away from a cold bucket bath and a hot glass of tea when I was approached by a group of students.

“Why are you smiling?” one of the oldest ones asked in perfect English.

Quite honestly, I didn’t even realize that I had a cheesy grin spread across my face. I was so surprised by the unexpected question in a language I could understand that I didn’t think about the answer until much later.

Why am I smiling?

Smiling is an expression of appreciation and wonder –including the everyday things. At the point, I’ve passed the honeymoon stage we ETAs experienced upon arrival, our heads swiveling back and forth as we exclaimed “Look at that!” and “Did you see that?!” (Ok, I’ll admit I was still shocked to find a goat’s head on our front step last week…) Growing accustomed to life in Nepal, I’ve been able to notice the more subtle things that are just as, if not more, beautiful and inspiring as the giant stupas and waving prayer flags.

Things like watching little Supreme take his first wobbly steps outside the shop next door. Getting air high-fives across the soccer field from my biggest troublemaker in sixth grade. Having Spandan climb into bed with me, showing off the homemade picture book she made in school. Hearing cheers coming from the grade nine classroom when they found out I would be teaching their free period. Seeing the look on my headmaster’s face as he walked by my classroom as I had a student’s leg elevated on a desk and “bandaged” with my scarf in an attempt to demonstrate a first aid science lesson. Being unable to walk out the door without Stutat chasing after me, grabbing for my hand.

Why am I smiling?

I now realize that all of these moments have one thing in common –they involve my relationships with family and community members. I’m smiling because I’ve finally reached the point where I feel I belong. I feel grounded by this sense of community.

Buddist monk, Thich Nhat Hanh, writes, “If we really know how to live, what better way to start the day than with a smile? Our smile affirms our awareness and determination to live in peace and joy. The source of a true smile is an awakened mind.”

This morning, the students asked me why I’m smiling. But a better question would be, why not?  

How to Outrun a Rhino

3 February

Answer: you don’t.

The thing to do when faced with a charging rhino is to “climb the nearest tree,” according to our guide in Chitwan National Park. If you are unfortunate enough to find yourself without easy access to low-hanging branches, hiding behind the tree can be effective. And,  if all else fails, running zig-zag is the best way to avoid a rhino’s poor eyesight.

Standing on the riverbank before embarking into the jungle, I looked around at the tangled mess of vines and branches that lined the path.

Sure. Easier said than done, I thought.

Our guide continued with his safety instructions. In case of a vicious sloth bear encounter, huddle together in a group while I bang this on the ground to scare it away, motioning to the walking stick in his hand. Tigers are a different story; don’t run, keep eye contact, and back away slowly. But elephants, he said, peddling his feet as if performing a football conditioning drill, if we see a wild elephant –RUN!

And with that we set off into the jungle with our fearless leader and the rest of us staking claims on the closest climbing tree.

With just over a month before the end of our grant, the Gorkha ETAs decided it was time to visit one of Nepal’s landmark destinations, Chitwan National Park, known for its jungle walks, wildlife sightings, and most importantly, elephant rides!

What we lacked in comfort (who knew jamming four people in a small wooden box on top of lumbering elephant could be so painful!), our elephant handler made up for with character. Midway through our ride he took the liberty of being our personal photographer. This involved him waving our cameras behind him at an attempt at a group “selfie,” resulting in a number of empty frames except for miscellaneous foreheads, shoulders, and feet.

Although we didn’t spot one of the rare Bengal tigers, a surprise was waiting for us later that evening. Seated around the campfire (thinking about how great it would be to have some s’mores), an employee approached us and casually asked if we would like to see a rhino.

We followed his directions through the wall of bushes to the neighboring hotel, which I hald-expected to reveal a statue or mural of one of these horned creatures. Instead, it opened to a field and less than twenty yards away stood a real. Live. Nepali. Rhino. Chewing grass, unfazed by the camera flashes and flashlight beams. It was like staring at a modern day dinosaur.