Nepal

First off, I would like to apologise for the huge gap in blogs. Ive had a rather hectic past weeks, first with school exam prep and then hosting two friends from the UK. My first entry is essentially an essay highlighting how frustrating politics in Nepal can be on a day-to-day basis. My second entry is a light entry, with the third a brief outline of a day of chaos experienced in Kathmandu a couple of weeks ago. I hope these three different entries suffice to make up for the large gap! I will endeavour to become more punctual in my final few months here.
Immature Nepali Politics
I feel distinctly frustrated today. On arriving at school I was told that today all government schools in the area were closed. The reason – a teacher at a secondary school in the district had died in an accident the previous evening. As such one of the teaching unions had called for a day of condolence, which the district education office agreed with. Although I sympathise with the teacher’s family and friends, and have come to understand the familial (apologies for the gender-specific language) bond between teachers in Nepal that would have led to much sadness in the teaching community, my pragmatic, education-minded and, dare I say it, ‘professional’ concern for development in and of Nepal led me to feel annoyance at what I perceive to be an over-reaching of political influence. And this for me has led to highlight my frustration at the wider political situation in Nepal, and acts as a microcosm of development in the country. With a little over a week until end of year exams begin at schools in the town of Hetauda, surely the last thing students need is a day of learning lost merely due to the unfortunate (and may I reiterate sad) death of a person whom I suspect for most students means nothing whatsoever. You may argue that a day out of the classroom would offer students the opportunity to revise, or get some much-needed pre-exam relaxation before the period of testing commences. My counter-argument is that we are currently revising the course-book in class, whilst setting relevant homework alongside this. I would also say that in a country where public education is notoriously poor, where days are missed through various religious holidays, strikes, or due to individual circumstance, calling for random and unexplained (to the students) school closures does not in my opinion seek to motivate students that education is a worthwhile endeavour.
And in what way does this single-day, single-town occurrence represent the wider development picture in Nepal?
In becoming involved and calling for school closures district-wide, the union and district educational office have managed to not only politicise one teacher’s death (by making it a unionised matter and in not giving schools the choice of whether to close – my principal had wanted us to remain open), but have actively hindered the education of thousands of children. Although the motivations are, I suspect, largely in deference to Nepali traditions and cultural values regarding death, respect and mourning, I do also think there were some political motivations at work – certainly the district education office would not have wanted to incite the wrath of a union, given the tendency here for disruptions to happen regularly and for often very small reasons.. Yet this is all incredibly frustrating, and the frustration I felt at this event was very much the same impatience I feel towards Nepali politicians.
Although Nepal has technically been a democracy since 1950, when political parties were legalised after the overthrow of the Rana regime, and the first parliamentary elections held, the Panchayat system which held court until the 1990 People’s Movement didn’t allow for democracy in its truest sense. Indeed, there was no free speech, the only media was state-controlled, and the only development organisations were those from abroad, with special permission to work in the country. In addition, the Maoist insurgency that plunged Nepal into civil war between 1996 and 2006 created a state of emergency in 2001, thus virtually removing previous democratic rights of Nepalis. Thus, the 21-year old democracy and recent change from a constitutional monarchy to a republic has left Nepali politics still finding its feet. Since 1950 there have been 35 PMs, at an average term of 21 months. And although feudalism is no longer officially present in Nepal, many of its traits still are, with ‘traditional’ politics still practiced. Nepal is incredibly corrupt, nepotism in public life rampant, and the wheels of bureaucracy are easily greased if one knows the right people or has pockets deep enough. With such a young ‘democracy’ ‘operating’ in such a manner, things inevitably become frustrating for an outsider used to the workings of the British democratic system (please don’t pull on that thread, far too long a discussion!). Yet I read daily in the newspaper of various politicians throwing accusations about, or refusing to budge on a specific issue solely on ideological grounds, regardless of how important it may be to the progress of Nepal’s development into a functioning, free, and fair state.
A recent example of this is the recent aftermath of the decisive PM election. With the parliamentary seats already allocated through popular vote a couple of years ago, Nepal’s PM is voted in by sitting MPs. Unfortunately, the two bitter rivals in Nepali politics, the National Congress Party (NCP) and the United Communist Party Nepal – Maoist (UCPN-Maoist) had the most seats, and thus the most votes. Last year this lead to a deadlock where the NCP candidate was the only candidate for 17 rounds of voting, but lost every time by virtue of the Maoists and other parties voting against him. The farce only came to an end when the President stepped in and called things to an end, and the rules altered by the provisional provisional government (I use that term twice because the recently elected is technically a provisional government until the new constitution is finalised, so the government in at the time of the failed elections was even more temporary and unofficial). Thus, a few weeks ago a new PM was elected, being the leader of the UCPN – United Marxist Leninist, otherwise known as the Communist Party. They were backed by the Maoists. Rather than accepting the results and moving to assist in the smooth operation of government, in the writing of a new constitution, and moving towards a finalisation of the peace process, the three major parties have become involved, once again, in political power games. The NCP are feeling ‘betrayed’ by the Communist Party for accepting the votes of the Maoists and going into coalition with them, feeling that if the Maoist Party gains too much power that Nepal will fall under a authoritarian Communistic state. However this is a scenario that few outside the NCP see happening, if only because of Nepal’s ever-so recent history of rejecting undemocratic repressive rulers. However the Maoists are in turn being awkward, calling for the People’s Liberation Army, their militia that fought the insurgency, to be set up as a second security force in Nepal alongside the Nepali army, a premise as ludicrously divisive as it is unworkable. And finally, the Communist Party, despite being in power, seem unable to make any decisions. Indeed, a cabinet is still to formed, weeks after the PM was elected. And with only 86 days (at time of writing) until the deadline to write a constitution, many commentators inside Nepal are talking of a bleak unknown after the May 28th cut-off date is reached, with possibilities of people taking to the streets, and armed groups proliferating, particularly in rural areas (indeed, in recent days one Maoist party elite called for people to prepare for an armed ‘people’s revolt’, whilst various youth militias are being set up – I will also add that in the past two weeks there have been a spate of bombings in the Tarai region).
Now I am not naive to the complexities of governance, and am well aware that especially in states emerging from recent violent conflict, construction of functioning democracy can be difficult. However the major politicians and their parties are incredibly stubborn, and seem completely removed from the desires and needs of Nepali people. This seems to have filtered down into local politics, in turn affecting public institutions. Although the involvement of the general populace in their national politics is fantastic, and a necessity to counteract the poor politics higher up, the actions of certain civil society groups and trade unions and the readiness of people to voice their opinions at any given opportunity to me serves to highlight that the sniping and distrust present in politicians here is, for lack of a better word, pathetic. And to me this constant bickering and factionalism perpetuates at a lower level a feeling of frustration at national politics which unfortunately leads to highlight the deficiencies in such a young democracy, through the manifestation of inefficient and reactive democratic institutions which can place extreme pressure on the bureaucratic bodies of government that can sometimes negatively affect society. The example I am using being this week’s school closure, called for by a teachers’ union, who can get their way because there is an imbalance of power at the local level, due to poor governance at the top of the tree.
This returns me to the political situation at the national level, and locally country-wide. The democratic process still has a lot of maturing to go through before it can be termed functioning. This is also true for politics at a more local level. What is encouraging is the presence of trade unions and civil society groups, and it is pleasing that they can influence things. However, it is clear that in some cases, this week’s school closure being a case in point, their influence can be detrimental, highlighting that they too need to mature.
- Written March 2nd, edited March 30th – meaning that there are fewer than 60 days remaining until constitution deadline.

Tea and doughnuts
It would be wrong for me to attempt to frame this piece in any other manner than that of a delighted and (mildly) egocentric ‘outsider’ whom has run across something previously ‘undiscovered’, despite my daily experience of it, primarily because of the refreshingly contented inner feeling I have gained as a result of this afternoon’s events.
I imagine it would be of use to you if I elaborate on what I have been up to today, and what has put me in such a jovial mood, in addition to befitting the definition of this as a ‘blog’. The afternoon has merely entailed a lengthy yet leisurely stroll to areas of Hetauda that up until now I had just motor-biked through, a cup of chiya (sweet milk tea) supplemented with two freshly made doughnuts, and an amusing encounter with three Nepali children. However, I can’t help but feel that I have managed to escape the hum-drum of the day-to-day goings on at home and with regards to school by heading across town to an area I rarely go and am thus therefore not recognised, increasing the attention I get as a foreigner. May I just say this wasn’t my intention at the outset, however the epithet of being a ‘tourist’ today has probably contributed to my appreciation of the surroundings that I am still or at least until this afternoon was, relatively unfamiliar with, and as such my satisfaction with the day I have had.
Having had a quick and easy lunch of chow mein at my usual post-school tea-supping spot and a chat with didi (literal translation: older sister) Sushila, I decided to take advantage of the emergence of glorious sunshine with its pleasant warmth and the free afternoon I had as a result of today being a national holiday to head off and explore Hetauda a little. Having made my way along Hetauda’s main boulevard, feeling deftly but with definite authority pushed to one side by the huge and colourful lorries running along the dusty yet wonderfully tree-lined road – the trees incidentally creating an avenue which is aesthetically very pleasing – I decided to head away from the pedestrian-unfriendly space that obviously wasn’t created for my afternoon strolls towards the area of Hetauda that is by my reckoning the newest and certainly least densely populated.

Thus, my tale of touristic adventure and change from my ‘normal’ ‘acting development’ year had become reengaged. I firstly headed towards the Hetauda cinema hall, which I have passed before, with first an intention to note what Bollywood movie is showing this week, and secondly to move in the direction of what I can only describe as a street-side fresh-doughnut assembly-line. With my Bollywood entertainment for the week assured, on I went to doughnut heaven. I sat down, ordered two doughnuts and a chiya, and as I watched my snack being made before my eyes, I was taken back to childhood days of visiting the annual autumn fair in Muswell Hill, being warmed in my mittens by hot and sugary fresh doughnuts washed down with a rich Cadbury’s hot chocolate. Returning from my ever-so brief digression and (surely allowable in the circumstances) fit of nostalgia, the chiya was swiftly and with a smile of the brownest teeth this side of the Khyber Pass brought to me. Moments later the doughnuts, in their newspaper wrapping (why do all the best foods come in newspaper - I think the topic of another blog perhaps), were placed beside me. The milky tea was spiced wonderfully, and contained just the right amount of sugar. It is such a simple drink, and as I have mentioned I take it regularly, at least two glasses of chiya daily. Yet its soothing effects are tremendous. I wouldn’t go as far to suggest it is a medicinal remedy, however even as far as tea in general goes, it does wonders for one when feelings of weariness have set in, be it after a hard few classes at school, or having walked along a dusty Nepali roadway.
I tore away a piece of my oily and ever-so fresh doughnut, its golden outside slightly crispy and its pale inside fluffy and steaming, and dunked it into my tea. Here doughnuts are not rolled in sugar, which in fact makes them the perfect pastry accompaniment to the sweet ‘n’ spicy chiya. Taking my time with my drink and snack I felt sufficiently reinvigorated to do some more exploring. I headed off down a road I was new to, in the knowledge that I was bearing in pretty much the correct direction for Pashpatinath, one of the largest temple complexes in Hetauda. I had been there briefly before, but that time I had been taken on the back of a motorcycle, and as such I had not paid a great deal of attention to the route, more concerned with holding on. It is an incredibly peaceful place, in an area of Hetauda which is highly residential, yet because of some very thoughtful planning is sparsely populated and still relatively quiet. Thus my walk to the temple was relaxing and allowed me much more space to wander than my previous route along Hetauda’s main road, chock-a-block with its lorries, rickshaws and jeeps. I reached the temple with almost no directional assistance from local Nepalis, and on entering the complex I tried in vain to avoid three little girls, giggling and pointing at me. I circled the temple and found a bench, hoping to gain some solitude and tranquillity for half an hour or so before returning to hectic end of Hetauda and life as I have become used to.
However my hopes were swiftly dashed as the three girls followed me and, perching themselves at a distance that suggested on the one hand they weren’t quite sure what this white-skinned and evidently foreign creature was doing in their neighbourhood, but on the other hand that they were inquisitive enough to find out. Soon enough the inevitable questioning commenced. “What is your name?” “Where are you from?” “How many members in your family?” etc.
Although I had been looking for a little peace and quiet I couldn’t help but be charmed by these three giggling children, who were 8, 8 and 6 years old respectively, and for the next few minutes they practised their English on me, whilst I practised my Nepali on them. We relayed information across the language barrier about each of our families, they insisted I was a ghost, and each of us managed a little mild teasing in the others’ language. So in managing to avoid annoying me, and continually giggling, the three girls capped off my superb afternoon with hilarity and some incredibly adorable banter.

Day of fighting – with a twist
As soon as we awoke we could sense the atmosphere of the city had altered from the days before. Although for days we had seen pistols and larger weapons for sale, it still hadn’t sunk in what was going to happen. And how could it, seeing as we had never experienced anything like this before in the UK. We steeled ourselves for what we might see in the streets. I couldn’t quite believe how penetrating the screams and shouts that could be heard were. Young men were evidently having a riot, with women and children involved too. My legs were shaking as I walked out of the hostel, and all I can say is the scene I entered was one of panic, people confused as to where to run, bombs raining down from the windows above, people grouping themselves in doorways and scuttling down alleyways to avoid the bombardment. At one end of the road we were on there seemed to be a blockade of people, so we moved in the other direction, unfortunately entering the dangerously claustrophobic and windy streets of Thamel, fully aware we would become sitting ducks for anyone willing to pick us off.
I am of course describing the opening moments of my 1st experience of Holi, the festival of water and colour. It is primarily a festival in the Tarai region, the flat, dry south of Nepal, however being as fun as it is it is a national holiday celebrated up in Kathmandu as much as near to the Indian border. The pistols and bombs? Well they of course are full of H2O, usually dyed with a vibrant colour of purple, red, green or yellow, and if you are really unlucky sourced from Kathmandu’s less than perfect public-water system. The dress for the day? Whatever old rags you can pull out of the closet, because trust me; you will be wearing your t-shirt to whatever 80’s tie-dye competition is being held in the next decade. And your attitude? One of complete acceptance that anything goes. You are a target for anyone to throw dye, water bombs, buckets of water or merely shoot a water pistol at. Inevitably by the end of the day every part of your body will be covered in a rainbow of colours, leaving you resembling a painter’s palette. And please note – as a foreigner, one generally gets much more attention for abuse than most Nepali citizens.

Despite its religious roots, it appears than Holi has descended into what is essentially a mass country-wide water-fight. Walking through Kathmandu to our intended final destination of Durbar Square we came across mini-battles, and were often caught in the crossfire. At one point we entered a square that had a couple of hundred children, teenagers and adults dancing to Bollywood music, filling their water bombs up and getting anyone and everyone. It was wholly necessary to get completely involved, and what was fantastic was that every single person there was a target, by virtue of the fact that they were in the area. On reaching Durbar Square we were coverd in dye, however we were one short, my friend Graham having wandered off; behind enemy lines presumably.

Eventually we met up with Graham, perched high up on a pagoda in the middle of the square, surrounded by hundreds of other people chilling out watching the street-party that had been organised by a national radio station. There was awesome Nepali and Bollywood music, and a whole load of people dancing. Graham and I couldn’t resist, so we jumped on down to get involved in some Nepali-style dancing. It was fantastic – there was now pretention, no arrogance, and no desire to show off, it was just a massive group of people letting loose, gyrating, spraying dye and water over each other, and enjoying Holi together. The light-hearted attitude of people and atmosphere of inclusivity is from my experience only comparable to the parade and partying that takes place at Pride Festival in Brighton. Although a cultural event similar to the Notting Hill Carnival, the London-event is always much more threatening, with more of an attitude problem than that of Holi.

All-in-all a superb day, tiring, but entirely a unique festival that in some way befits its place in the friendly, welcoming and culturally peaceful tradition of Nepali society. Might try and go next year – you should!

Christmas 2010: Karnataka and Goa
Christmas celebrations this year were spent away from the Creagh-Barry homestead, and were instead conducted in the beautiful setting of India’s South-Western beaches. My journey down from Kathmandu to Gokarna, Karnataka, was hellish (34 hours), but I don’t feel it necessary to fill your heads with another page about delayed planes, buses and expensive taxis. All I will say is that if I had a little Indian pop music and a romance at the end with Katrina Khat, I think the journey would have resembled a Bollywood movie. O, and F.Y.I. according to the fella I sat on a bus with for 18 hours between Mumbai and Gokarna, the meditative practice that he explained to me extensively (zzzzzz...) can cure cancer. Of course it can sweetheart.
Now, onto the beaches. Ahhh, those sexy beaches. Warm water, 30 degree heat, beer in one hand and a Pina Colada in the other, it was a refreshing and much needed change to the thermal pants, cold showers and daal bhat that my first Nepali winter was treating me to. Other than lounging on the beach for this part of the holiday not a great deal was done, other than play footie with a bunch of Indians, an Afghan who claimed to know Osama, some Nepalis, a man resembling a Viking, and another fella who was so drunk that he was determined that everything be an offside. Even the passes in the middle of the pitch. We met a lovely Indian Santa Claus, with genuine beard, and enjoyed a tasty fish platter for Christmas Dinner, washed down with expensive but disgusting Indian Sauvignon Blanc.
We moved up to Goa the day after Boxing Day, the drive giving us some fantastic views of the Goan countryside. Palolem was our destination, and it was time to get down to some serious drinking. Pina Coladas (honestly, Delboy would have been proud) and Bloody Marys were the drinks of the week, all chased down with a few Kingfishers here and there. Again, our days were filled with lying on the beach, beach cricket, and lazing in the hot water. A few of us did get out for a couple of hours fishing one afternoon, our 3 miniscule catches were seriously nothing to be proud of (I say our, but I really had nothing to do with them), but it was fun. On my final day I treated myself to an Ayeruvedic massage, which was intense. Apart from having my balls prodded as I settled into position, it went swimmingly.
So with that in mind (not the ball-prodding), I bade my chums farewell, and began the 2-day trip back to Kathmandu, via a one-day stop in Mumbai. Mumbai is crazy. Having never been there I was keen to see as much as possible in one day. When I arrived into the outskirts of the city on our coach from Goa, I was rushed into a cab, advising the driver to take me to Leopold’s Cafe. As we arrived the cabbie quoted his price. 1800 Indian Rupees for a trip that shouldn’t have cost more than 800. I told him 500. He said that was ridiculous. We argued. He phoned a man. This man then told me he was the Mumbai Taxi Drivers Trade Union leader, and the price was 1500 rupees. I merely explained that if that WAS the case, I would come down to his offices with a lawyer to discuss the matter. Listen to the price drop down to 700 rupees.
India is a place where people will attempt to rip you off as a tourist at every turn, but this was by far the biggest piss-take, and it was not the start to my day I had in mind. But on I went, and touristed it up at Leopold’s, then CST, the old Victoria Station that is one the major colonial landmarks in Mumbai. I then headed down to the Gate of India and the Taj Hotel Palace (scene of the 2007 attacks). One scene that was horribly ironic, and will stick with me, was of a toddler, obviously a street child, milling about the tourists, giggling and completely unaware of the cruel hand he had been dealt. He was filthy, but clothed, his t-shirt adorned with the Superman insignia. As if to rubber-stamp the irony, he was trailing in his hand a toy mobile-phone, a poor child accessorising with one of the symbols of prosperity and commercialism in the globalised world.
Anyway, after watching sundown at the Gate of India and being called Harry Potter by some over-weight and thoroughly minging cock of an Indian, I headed to the pub to neck a few jars and kill some time before heading to Mumbai International Airport.
And that is basically my Christmas. To sum up, I spent lots of time drinking on and slightly off the beach, had a horrific delay-filled journey at the beginning of my holiday, ate lots of fish, warmed my bones, and to cap it off was felt up by a male masseuse.

Despite my awesome getaway, which was definitely a much-needed break, from the constant cold if anything, on my return to Kathmandu I realised how much I am enjoying Nepal. Before I came here I had heard nothing but good things, with the obvious warnings regarding lack of electricity and poor transport probably being the only exceptions. Yet the people are friendlier and more welcoming than I could have expected, the atmosphere relaxed, and the way of life pretty idealistic. I have experienced some shocks and daily see situations that in a perfect world would not exist, however on the whole people here go about their daily business with a sense of ease, with an acceptance that although their country’s situation is far from ideal, they won’t moan because they have their family and are at peace.
I’ve my regular haunts in Hetauda now, and my favourite has to be the tea-shop I go everyday at 4pm after school. Sushila, the owner’s wife, always greets me warmly, and because she doesn’t speak a word of English I have a good opportunity to practice my Nepali (on a side-note, I found out last week she is also 25, and has twin daughters of about 9 or 10 years old). The caretaker of the local temple joins me each day and we chat in our broken versions of the other’s mother tongue, keeping everything fairly simple for now! From feeling like the interminable outsider at school and in town I have now felt even more settled since my return from India. At school I am being set homework in order to advance my Nepali, I can write the alphabet fully in Devanagari script (a descendant of Sanskrit), and I try and get in as much of my knowledge into my conversations with the students. Last week, the school faculty, along with students from the evening adult classes we run, went for a picnic. It started early (as did the drinking – the principal and his mateys were on the whiskey by 11am!), and lasted all day. We ate amazing food, all cooked on-site at the park, chatted, and in the afternoon danced to both traditional music played with flutes and mendelas (double-ended hand-drums), and to Bollywood tunes from the stereo. It was an awesome day, and I’ve noticed a definite change in the attitude of the other teachers towards me – I think they possibly feel I have integrated better and am more at ease in the environment and with them, which is definitely true. I’ve still got 8 months remaining here for something to go wrong, or to gain an incredible epiphany and realise this is the place for me, so we’ll see what happens, but for the moment, I am extraordinarily at peace here, with a strong desire to learn the language, and solidify my burgeoning friendships.

Bratabandha
5am: We are walking down to the confluence of the Rivers **** and **** in the holy village of Devghat. I feel like I’m in a scene from Apocalypse Now. The trees rise up high above us, blocking the moon, whilst the glum grey that signals a thick fog holding off the approaching dawn sits in its dejected slump, adding to the already bone- and brain-numbing chill that represents the cooler-than-usual Winter the Terai is suffering from. Although I am fully aware that our visit here for a Hindu right-of-passage ceremony intentionally coincides with the huge Hindu celebration of *****, the thousands of people creating a swarm of pilgrims that we are a part of is incredibly disconcerting to my sleep-deprived brain. The spotlights and deep bass of sadhus chanting alongside mammoth drums merely serves to perpetuate my sense of unease, and the incessant feeling that I am in an exceptionally bizarre dream mounts as people wearing plastic flashing devil-horns shove past me. Then we reach the river...

• * *

2am: The house is madness. Remember the scene from Home Alone when the whole family is frantically rushing to leave for their Christmas holiday? Well, it is essentially like that, except we didn’t forget anybody. Over the course of the previous day, family members have been arriving, food has been cooked, taken, and then more food prepared, and we have all managed in the region of 1-3 hours sleep. In a short while 18 of us will be setting off on the 3 hour journey to Devghat for the once in a year opportunity for Gaurabv (the 14 year-old boy I live with) to get his Bratabandha ceremony performed at one of the holiest sites in the Hindu religion. The Bratabandha ceremony is essentially the ‘coming-of-age’ ceremony for young Hindu males, the point at which he ‘becomes a man’.
Everybody is incredibly excited, and although I’m feeling knackered and far from coherent, I’m pretty eager to get going and get involved with what promises to be a fascinating exposure to an incredibly important ceremony for both my family and Hindus in general. In anticipation I even purchased a Nepal taaka topi, the colourful traditional hat worn by Nepali men.
And off we go, piling into the small micro-bus we have hired for the journey, squashed in with the buckets full of food for our post-ceremony picnic on the floor. Nepali songs are being sung, and there is a buzz of anticipation, which is probably the only thing keeping me awake.

• * *

3pm: Everyone is exhausted. The three hour journey home was interrupted with a couple of planned toilet/snack stops, and with one unplanned tyre blow-out. Fortunately the driver’s assistant was on hand with a spare and we were on the road again within 5 minutes. But we are back, having had a fascinating and joyous, albeit tiring, morning.
After walking through the forest at the break of dawn we finally reached the river confluence, and with thousands of people converging on the riverside we pushed through and began the ceremony of Bratabandha. Gaurabv knelt on the riverbank, and his maternal uncle began the process of shaving his head clean, leaving a little tuft of hair on the crown known as the toupee. With that done, Gaurabv was then required to remove all his clothing bar his pants and wash in the river. Hundreds, if not thousands of other people, men and women, young and old, were also stripping and bathing, using the ‘holy’ water within their own prayers. Mind this is at 6am, in the middle of Winter – I was in fleece, body-warmer, thick socks, trousers and hat, and was still cold – so I hate to think what that river water must have felt like. Having washed, one of the hundreds of ‘holy men’ was then hired to give mantras to Gaurabv and make the Bratabandha ceremony official. Nobody could answer my question as to how we knew this man in a coat who was making money from his prayers was ‘official’, but on went the ceremony, and Gaurabv, now sitting beside a small fire with the holy man, in just his pants and covered with a shawl, was soon becoming a man. He had to throw various items of food into the fire, received tika, had to circle the fire twice, and later again thrice, before having a moment of privacy with the holy man, who under the shawl was presumably saying ‘secret’ mantras in the culmination of the ceremony. In addition to our own ceremony were hundreds of others just like it, young boys with shaven heads all becoming men. As mentioned, there were also brave pilgrims dipping into the river in an act of faith, and of course, how could one forget the cows, wandering about being offered food, and having pilgrims touch them and move on in reverence of their holy stature in Hinduism.
The whole morning was fascinating, and I still can’t get over how many people were in attendance. Although not officially a Hindu state, and although Hinduism has only been the dominant religion in the country for the past couple of hundred years, people here dedicate so much of their time and resources to ensuring they follow the religion. From the necessity to pray and offer food to the gods before eating, to spending money on idols of Laxmi (goddess of money) to furnish one’s home in the anticipation that she will shower one with financial success, and even going so far as to risk getting an illness by bathing in a non-flowing river at temperatures only just above freezing, people fill their daily lives with Hinduism. Although I was going to end on a rather cynical note, I have decided against that this time. The whole ceremony and day, tiring though it was, was incredibly interesting, and for Gaurabv and his whole family a very important event. They enjoyed themselves, I enjoyed being part of such a special event, and it certainly made me feel even more a member of the Neupane family.

A Sad Note...
On Monday Hetauda had its second bandh since my arrival, but the first that directly affected me. A bandh is a ‘strike’, although in many cases there are no unions involved, and the reasons behind them are much more serious and far-reaching. In Nepal they also have a reputation for involving violent elements, from acts of vandalism to full-out riots (although the latter have been a lot rarer since the end of the insurgency). As such, the day when a bandh is announced to occur, public transport in the area ceases to operate and businesses and public buildings remain closed.
To quickly fill you in, the strike occurring this time was as a protest by one political party at the ‘load-shedding’ (planned daily power-cuts) that hampers daily life here. We are currently at 12 hours per day without power, with that set to increase as the dry season continues, probably up to 16 hours per day by the end of April. So with that in mind, the strike was planned, and Hetauda was on lock-down.
I had been told the previous day that our school was remaining open, as it is well away from any road or area where the strike would pass. I thus left home at my usual time, hoping in a personal-safety respect to avoid the strike, and in my own inquisitive mind hoping I would be forced to pass right through it. Although I didn’t see any strike, what I did come across was surreal in the extreme. Hetauda is usually bustling with traffic, both of the automobile and human kinds, with the bazaar steady from early morning until early evening. However as I set out on my stroll the air was still, and I had a really heavy feeling in the pit of my stomach. As I came onto the main road I was met with a scene that is analogous to the streets of a Wild West town at High Noon. A few people were walking around, but with all the shops closed and with zero traffic on the road, the town was deafeningly quiet. I continued my walk aware that I felt as if I was in a dream, and soon came to a police blockade. They were of course armed to the teeth and all set in urban camouflage gear, but distinctly calm. As I walked past them I heard a shout, directed at me. I looked up, and was approached by....the secretary from my school! He then proceeded to tell me that school was in fact closed, and I should return as usual tomorrow. Mildly relieved, and feeling freaked out by the whole situation, I went home.
The following day, when things returned to normal and we were back at school, I asked my vice-principal why nobody had contacted me to tell me that school was closed. He apologised, but informed me that until he and 11 other teachers arrived at school they thought it would be a normal school day. This confused me, so I delved further. He explained that a group of men from the protest group had come down to the school to ensure it remained closed. Not out of any sincere concern about its safety, but in fact to threaten the vice-principal. They told him they would vandalise the school and harm him if the school remained open that day. The emotions I felt were anger, sadness, disappointment, and another feeling in which my stomach did somersaults. This final feeling, I think, derived from finally reaching a point of understanding as to how much crap the common person in Nepal has to put up with whilst their political ‘leaders’ posture and argue about who should have power, and who would serve the people better, whilst actually only serving themselves better. As an outsider I am frustrated with what I read in my daily newspaper and when I watch the news, but it doesn’t compare to what the average Nepali feels. Every Nepali person I have spoken to, almost without exception, is proud of their country, thinks it is beautiful, and has a relatively laid-back attitude to life. However, again without exception, every Nepali I have spoken to is frustrated with the politicians and their failures to elect a permanent government, or move forward in the constitution-writing process. In my position of privilege and foreign bias I am undoubtedly unable to understand fully what it is like to be a disenfranchised Nepali citizen, however after the ‘protest’ debacle that forced the closure of school on Monday, and saw the never-pretty entry of partisan politics into the sphere of education, I felt a great deal of frustration and anger directed towards the government of this wonderful country.

On a happier note, I am going to buy new shoes today, and I’m sure there must be many of you who know what that means.......

Feeling a little like Kim Jon-Il...”I’m wonwey, feel so wonwey...”

The weariness of being one-of-a-kind, standing out through the colour of my skin and my inability to speak the language, of being the only noticeable foreigner in town – it began to rear its ugly head a week or two ago.
It was my worst week for home sickness since my first week here. Back then however I was jet-lagged, tired from the long journey, overwhelmed with new people and a new home. Now it is the 2-month drag feeling. However, although the time hasn’t flown by, I suspect that the point where I will be nearer the time of departure than to my arrival will soon be upon me.
I am making a concerted effort to learn the Nepali language, however with no activity books or syllabus to guide me, I have been struggling to determine what I should be practising – I have just my Lonely Planet phrasebook and my Peace Corps Introduction to Nepali. The immersion technique has helped a little, and my conversational confidence is growing, however it is incredibly frustrating and disconcerting to have no idea what is being said, especially when you know you are the topic of conversation.
Another factor in feeling rather isolated and alone is food. Having fries in Kathmandu one month ago was heaven – snapping a Kit-Kat the other night was an incredible treat, and even finding a Mars Bar in Hetauda gave me a broad grin alongside a smug strut. Two weeks ago I burst into the living room at home with the exciting news that I had found somewhere that sells pasta, and thus it was decided that I should prepare dinner on Saturday evening. The Fusilli Bolognese for mains and pancakes for pudding went down a treat.
However, these are all rare pleasures, and although I am coping with the twice-daily portions of dhal baat tarkary, I have always placed huge importance on food being a delight, and on variation in dishes. I’m not even talking about cordon bleu here – I am gagging for a bacon sarnie drenched in HP Sauce and ketchup. Unfortunately, the mix of traditional recipes, cultural and religious beliefs, limited access to certain cooking techniques (no oven for example), and limited resources mean food is, although tasty and nutritious, rather ‘samey’. Make up your own mind about boiled white rice with vegetable curry every morning at 8.45am and again at around 7pm, but, trust me, there are rarely any surprises.
I think the most pressing reason for last week’s brief bout of homesickness is a distinct lack of a social life. Hetauda dies down after dark – to say there is no night-life would be an understatement. More than that though is my lack of friends. Even the one or two people who are of similar age to me I am not close to. For one, I’ve only known them a few weeks. In addition, the language barrier once again holds court. I do miss chatting shit and sparking banter in the pub, or just hanging out on the X-Box.
I must point out the important points though. I don’t for a second regret what I have chosen to do. I am enjoying teaching, and once again the town I am living in is lovely, with wonderful people. But it certainly isn’t easy, and doesn’t make me miss my family and friends any less. Now, for Christmas, I want a quality meat pie, creamy mash, mushy peas, a jug of hot gravy, and a pint of Theakston’s. Would all go down a treat.

Missionary Style

A couple of Mondays back I went to school as per usual, except this time I had been informed by my principal that the school was expecting a visit from a group of Americans, themselves interested in education in developing countries such as Nepal. I was excited by this for a number of reasons. Firstly, it would allow me an opportunity, rare in Hetauda, to converse with a group whose mother tongue was also English, and who also heralded from a culture more familiar to me. It would allow me to relax and perhaps engage in conversation concentrated on something other than what I had eaten for lunch that day or how long the electricity had been out for. In addition, I assumed that they were a group of development professionals or maybe PhD students on a research trip. I figured that I would have some kind of a professional link with these people that I may be able to build upon, and thus increase my network.
It wasn’t to be. The group were a drama collective who specialised in entertaining school-children. Their opening performance was mildly engaging, and had most of the schoolchildren laughing and cheering, although a lot didn’t understand what was being said, despite the presence of a Nepali interpreter. It is my understanding that performances like this is are positive for young children, and work especially well for those from conflict and/or low-income backgrounds. I have become to build a relationship with most of the children at the school, and at the time of this performance I admit I felt that ‘my kids’ were having fun, and I was very pleased.
But then it happened. The dreaded event that so distorts development work and can be so divisive and damaging to young children. The drama group, who had been so innocent in their clownish behaviour minutes before, began proselytizing the word of God. Utilizing a dirty handkerchief to first outline how each and every one of us (even their clown, whose name escapes me) sins, and does “bad things”, and are therefore ‘dirty’ inside, they then proceeded to pluck a clean handkerchief out of their magic bag to show how Jesus can clean us. There was then some information relayed about the dedication to the cause shown by Christ in getting himself crucified, before the children were invited and wholeheartedly encouraged to pray, despite the fact that most of them are Hindu.
By this stage I was stood arms crossed and angrily staring at the ground, stopping myself from hurling curse words at the guests. After they finished preaching, and they went to the principal’s office for tea, I chatted to them cordially, despite the obvious tension, and discovered they were only in Nepal for 1 week, and were a larger group split into two.
Now my tone in this section of the blog has been angry and perhaps a loss of temperament is immature and a sign of weakness, however this group is purely an example that the missionary spirit that saw churches head out around the world in order to ‘civilize the natives’ is still alive and well. It also serves as a warning that the NGO world is getting dangerously large and far too open to amateur organisations who see themselves as doing something worthwhile and harmless, whilst missing out the dire consequences of no accountability and ill-informed ‘missions’. It can be disheartening and serves to instil in oneself a great degree of consciousness regarding one’s actions. Am I merely adding to the inequalities in the world through colonialist-type, condescending actions in a community the only information I have about coming from my own brief experience of living here and from what I am told about the people I know here? The ramifications of misinformed and inexperienced “development” activities can be dangerous. I think maybe I will end this piece there, as thinking too much can sometimes be a little dangerous – and certainly in this case I am heading towards a highly negative area!
Let’s just say those bloody missionaries (because however they dress it up, that is what they were) have pissed me off and got me a-thinking.

Dinner by Candlelight

Over the past week or two the power-cuts have become longer, with outages occurring for 3-4 hours at a time. We are expecting 10-16 hours per day without power over the next few of months (essentially the amount of power in the country becomes less the further into the dry season we get, and this lasts until May/June, when the monsoon begins), something I am both looking forward to and dreading.
With no hot showers anyway, and gas and/or wood used as cooking fuel, the only effect on my daily life, and that of the rest of the community, is a lack of light in the evening. O, and any power cuts that may occur whilst I am watching the Ashes! The major issue with no electricity at night, and thus no light other than that produced by candles and torches, is that the children I live with are unable to do their homework properly, meaning they have to rise earlier than usual the next day to complete it before school. This is something I assume affects most children in the area, except perhaps those lucky few whose parents can afford a generator. Personal pluses of no electricity are that life is a little more peaceful in the evening. There is no blare of the television, whilst dinner by candle-light is calming, rather than the rather blinding light of the stark white light-bulbs. We have also been sitting around chatting more in the evening, which allows me to practice my Nepali, and creates an increased feeling of togetherness, rather than being separated in mind if not body by television and/or computer.
However, before the romantic idealist in me gets carried away, I do question a ‘government’ that allows its’ citizens to go without power for half their day. Nepal does use hydro-electric power, a fantastic use of the vast water resources here, but one that is just not being harnessed properly. In part it is poor state governance, a fact amplified by Nepal’s lack of officially permanent government (the country currently has an interim government whilst the three main parties parlay over a new constitution – their disputations are ridiculous however). China and India are however far from blameless. Both have generously invested in Nepal’s numerous hydro-electric plants. Yet their investment has come at a price, this being that each day ‘load-shedding’ will occur, this being the act of power-transfers into each country, thus depriving Nepal of power. Hence no electricity, no television, no BBC World News, and thus no constant updates about Prince William and Kate ‘Common-as-muck’ Middleton. I guess in reflection you can’t stay angry at Chindia for long!

A friend has requested that I now begin ending each blog with a Nepali joke, and so here is one that I think appropriate to that final piece.
One day, two American development workers, on a research project for USAID to determine the extent to which Nepal has developed over the past few years, are taking a walk through the jungle. Suddenly, and most unexpectedly, they are both taken by an urge to have a poo. With no toilet nearby they scramble to dig a hole in the ground. On relieving themselves they realise they have no toilet paper either. The nearest things to hand are a few piles of leaves, which the development workers utilise immediately. Unfortunately, these particular leaves are of the Shisnu plant, and are well-known amongst Nepali’s to cause a burning rash when touched. Very quickly, the two Americans begin to get a tingling sensation in their behind’s, which leads very quickly to a burning feeling. They are not slow in running back to their lodge!
They write up their report, and soon return to their office In Washington D.C. Their project manager sits them down, and asks them what their conclusions on the state of Nepal’s development are.
“Well,” the development workers say,”We can safely say that Nepal is highly developed.”
“Why is that?” queries the project manager, confused.
“Because they have electricity in the leaves!”

Tihar/Deepawli (more familiar by its Hindi name Diwali) I spent in the village of Mukranjuli. It is where some of my host family’s extended family live, and lies in the hills approximately one hour’s bus ride from the centre of Hetauda. The weekend itself was great fun, if absolutely knackering, and I got to participate as a family member in the traditional games and ceremony of Tihar.
Deusi (pronounced Dosi) is very similar to trick-or-treating, except it is a lot more imaginative and performative. Groups of (mainly) youngsters will move from house to house in their village and perform songs and dances, requesting gifts from the house, usually made up of money, sweets, grain, and other foodstuffs. If done well, sacks can be filled, if done poorly, the performers may come away with close to nothing. One group of teenagers who came to our house performed for over an hour, and deservedly got a fair amount of cash. What struck me about the whole act was that people readily got involved, that they didn’t mind giving up some money, that on occasion the songs even took the piss out the house-owner to embarrass them. However there was no menace in this, and it just added to the jollity of it all. It reminded me of being back in Odiham and having carol singers knock on the door (not the piss-taking bit)!
The festival is a celebration of light, with worship of various animals (dogs, crows, and cows) and culminates in sisters venerating their brothers. The fireworks and decorative lights were really pretty, and being up in the hills the lack of light pollution accentuated the coloured light bulbs and flashing patterns adorning the houses. A charity colleague told me that in her village, their neighbours put up Christmas lights and played Christmas music – surreal to say the least.
The worship of the animals was actually a really kind act, although seeing street-dogs wandering around with marigold-garlands around their necks and tika spots on their heads was very bizarre. The worship of the cows was again kind, although equally bizarre to witness.
On the final day of the festival we had the sibling event. There was 7 of us ‘brothers’, and our 3 ‘sisters’. In Nepal, cousins on the father’s side are regarded as brothers and sisters, hence the large a number of us. Us males sat in a circle around the offerings, and the females circled us first sprinkling over flower petals, and then giving us the tika of 7 different colours. We were finally given a package each, filled with fruit, nuts, and sweets. We then enacted the ceremony on the females, giving them money rather than food. It was a fun piece of tradition to be part of, however the obvious gender split and the religious reasons for it did make me mildly uncomfortable for a while. I got over myself though and just sunk into it, as it was great to celebrate the importance of siblings with people who I guess for the next 10 months are some kind of extended family for me. They have all been incredibly welcoming, so to be given the opportunity to participate in this was really special.
A couple of the guys from the family in the village are also in their mid-twenties, so I have been introduced to their friends, and I get on with them pretty well, despite the language barrier. It has been really tough being here as the only Westerner in the whole town, starting the language from scratch (except for what I was taught by Mikey, a Nepali chef at my local watering-hole and former employer), and having no friend-network. I have made two or three mates, but obviously nobody close, so having a brew and playing cards and table-tennis with the fellas from the village was a great relief! A few of you have asked what the lady situation is for me. Well, I have been told people are already looking for a Nepali wife for me (seriously!), but I would hate for the pap to get mixed up between Princey Will and myself and start hounding a Nepali family, so I may give that one a miss.
In other news, we finally started back to school on Sunday, but again, because of another religious festival, we have another national holiday today. Most of the students appear to have forgotten when to return to school, as for the three days before today’s holiday classes were heavily depleted. Im anticipating and hoping that by the beginning of next week, classes will be back to their full, manic selves.
Yesterday was the birthday of one my acquaintances here, she is 21, and so four of us went out for a quick bite at a local cafe. The celebration was completely different to one which might occur in the UK – no heading to the local to get hammered, no shots at midnight, much more subdued. The whole culture towards drinking is completely different here, with alcohol generally seen as destructive towards more than just the individual’s health. Alcohol is sold openly in cafes and restaurants, and indeed there are huge Tuborg signs painted over buildings throughout the country, so there is no lack of advertising, yet from a very young age children are taught in social studies and health classes that drinking lots damages the family unit and community cohesion through alcoholism and all the negatives that come with that. I honestly don’t recall getting taught anything in school about the damage done by alcohol, merely getting lessons in drinking as hard as I could throughout college and uni. With no emphasis here on going out on the lash after a week of work my alcohol consumption in two months has been less than that which I might put away in one evening in Basingstoke, and it feels so good. I definitely would never give up alcohol, but I am definitely changing my perspective on drinking a shed-load for fun. Maybe some politicians in the UK could get some balls and actually address the alcohol problem with some education and new debates, rather than just opening pubs later whilst making alcohol cheaper?
Life is getting more settled by the day, I am now making a concerted effort with my Nepali (unfortunately on hold due to all the festivals and moving about), and I have also discovered a snooker hall and health club (with sauna!!), plus the town cinema hall. I am hoping to get some extra volunteer hours at a local NGO who work with children affected by the conflict, and at school I want to stretch the students with some project work, give them something different to their usual diet of textbook activities. Ideas would be much appreciated!
Apologies for the lack of exciting content – it has been rather a staid couple of weeks!

SHAVING
Shaving one’s face is neither exciting nor an exercise in meditation. It is generally a chore done to beautify oneself, or for the more important purposes of hygiene, much like washing or the combing of hair. However, much to the contrary, going for a barber’s shave in the Indian subcontinent is a pleasure. It is the excuse one uses to grow facial hair, to appear mildly dishevelled for a day or three. It is also fantastically cheap. If you just get a shave, in Hetauda it sets you back the princely sum of 25 NPR, equivalent to approximately 25p. Chuck in the extras, and you’re charged around £1.
The barbers’ shops in Nepal are similar to those I experienced in India – open to the street, ramshackle, and wonderfully vacant of pretention. The barbers are artists, not service-providers, and it shows. Offering you a chair, they gather together their tools for the job ahead. Firstly using the shaving brush, dipped in cool water, the cream is lathered up over the cheeks, chin and neck, circling strokes and broad sweeps softening the stubble and allowing the customer to jellify into their chair, eyes closed and relaxing, absent to the world. Next, with the razor drawn, a fresh cut-throat blade unpacked and inserted, the shaving commences. With great precision yet alarming speed our barber removes the facial fuzz, and with great attention to detail, repeats the process to get those hairs that escaped the first-round cut.
Having had the proverbial ‘close shave’, one can end the experience right there, hand over their 25 rupees, and head off into the dust and heat. Big mistake if you do. This ritual is my weekly vice, one of the few things that, to borrow a good friend’s phrase, “makes [me] feel human.”
With one’s head back, a rock of alum balm is rubbed all over the cheeks, forehead, chin and neck, the effect to cool and calm. Water is sprayed all over, and facial soap is rubbed expertly in, before thread is used to take the soap and grime away. More balms and lotions are slapped on and massaged in, leaving one with a great-smelling, cooled, and fantastically moisturized face.
If this wasn’t enough, our ever-reliable player cracks his knuckles over our skull, rubs our scalp, and massages the whole cranium to buggery. Including the eyeballs. Next for us is the massage of the shoulders and back, and with some twisting and pulling the hands and fingers too. This all takes place whilst one is sat in the barber’s high-chair, the soporific affect of the treatment frustrated only by the solid wooden seat, and the knowledge that the real world is only a few yards away.
It is an experience all should have – and if you can’t grow facial hair naturally, I suggest testosterone injections. It will be worth it.
And that’s that.

Gender disparities

To begin, some caveats. I know little of feminist theory or progressive gender arguments, and, being a heterosexual middle-class white male, my experiences of persecution are minimal, even when travelling. Thus, one may argue, I come from a limited background when wanting to discuss bigotries far removed from my frame of reference. However, over the past few weeks, some incidents have piqued my interest enough to warrant a jabber on the disparities present in Nepal’s still highly patriarchal society.
Even in what one would label as relatively well-educated and progressive households, the inequalities present between men and women are huge. And for all our de jure advancements in the United Kingdom and more generally the West, the divide so present here in Nepal has merely served to highlight the de facto inequalities still present within our own society.
Although I have been fully aware of the patriarchal system present in Nepal since my arrival, a number of things have really reinforced the facts.
Reading the newspaper a couple of weeks ago, I came across a letter which described an act that still occurs, frequently enough to warrant note. The letter told of an incident in Kathmandu Valley regarding a practice that I had previously heard of in brief, but didn’t contemplate still occurring in the present day. However, as with female circumcision, it still does. The act is that of isolating a woman who has either just given birth or is in the process of menstruating (as a side-note, women are not allowed to cook either if they are menstruating), on the basis that she is ‘unclean’. The isolation occurs well outside the family home, with the woman usually placed in some kind of animal quarters. With the example from the newspaper, the young lady in question had died through blood loss having spent the night in a cow-shed after giving birth.
Although I do wish to clarify this practice is not widespread in Nepal, its continual presence does act as evidence, especially amongst more rural communities, of the way women are still regarded in Nepal, in my view due to lack of education and the continuance of archaic and outdated ideas. It is true that this practice is an extreme and rare form of the gender inequalities present in Nepal, but less obviously violent and more prevalent traditions are still reinforced daily in society, and each are just as detrimental to female equality, and thus the development of society.
At the beginning of this month I went to dinner at the house of an acquaintance in Hetauda, who, out of respect, will remain nameless. Entering his home I was greeted by his wife, present in the kitchen, preparing dinner. I was seated, and offered tea. I accepted, and my host (Mr X) sent off his dutiful wife to prepare the beverage. Mr X and I then sat and chatted. I felt that all we were missing was some brandy and cigars. Then we would definitely have been the men of the house! As it was those props weren’t necessary, as when dinner was prepared, Mr X and I sat and were served in our seats by his wife, who then proceeded to stand by patiently, adding to our plates any food we wanted more of. She, as is tradition, awaited the completion of our feasting before filling her own stomach. This ritual is performed every day, in every home. Women’s role is to serve the males. One piece of humour I can glean from this is that Mr X explained to me that not only do women prepare dinner, but they shop, clean, wash clothes, and, for the most part, look after the children. These are the well known assigned roles of women the world over, but the obvious irony is that despite the assumed superiority of males, in highly patriarchal societies their world would crumble without the support of a doting wife, mother or sister.

What is still so apparent is that we in the West often feel we are superior, that women and other minorities have become virtually equal citizens, because over the past 50 years awareness has been raised and (some) legislation passed. But prejudices still exist, and even former Equality Ministers can be guilty of making ignorant and hurtful comments (personal dig at Harriet Harman for her ‘ginger rodent’ comment about Danny Alexander), whilst our media still pigeonholes people into specific groups for its own ends. Yes I’m ranting, and I will happily admit that I am a hypocrite when making my own judgements (but who isn’t - It’s inherent in all of us), but whichever fools requested a blog from me have now placed me onto a soapbox which requires a few tirades. Hopefully by next September they will be more precise and a little clearer in their structure!

So, blog ‘angry time’ over, and you probably want to know what I’ve been up to since my last entry....

I’m sat listening to Monty Python’s Look on the Bright Side of Life, really trying to gather my thoughts so I can compose a decent final part to this entry. I think when I had posted my last entry, I had just returned back to town from an overnight stay with my hosts’ extended family in a small hillside village about an hour’s bus-ride from Hetauda. I had a really good time, even though I was only there for something like 18 hours, and we managed to squeeze quite a lot in. Having arrived off the bus, we of course got the late-morning formality (and pleasure) of daal bhat and tarkary (curry) out of the way. We ate with gusto in the farmhouse where we were staying, and I think it was the most I’ve eaten since I’ve been here. It definitely helped having fresh chicken in the curry, with plenty of chillies. With the meal over, Gaurabv and I headed down to the river that cuts through the hills, stopping on the way at the home of some more of his family. There I met plenty of cousins, uncles, aunts, and other Nepali’s whose relationship I couldn’t discern, and all were extremely welcoming. I was offered Tika, as it was still in the Dashain period, and, on turning it down, given a look of complete befuddlement by one of Gaurabv’s uncles. When I told him I wasn’t religious, he became ever more confused, and for a moment I thought I was in for a shit-storm of Hindu religious anger. However he laughed, blatantly thinking I had a mental defect, and the moment passed without further ado (although I must add I saw him the following day and he bought up the subject of my lack of piety to my hosts, which I didn’t much appreciate).
After this brief interlude, we continued on our way to the river, and literally bouncing through the paddy fields, I commented at one point that I felt like an extra in a Vietnam War flick. Yes, I’m a prat/geek. The river was incredibly refreshing though, and the views of Nepali agriculture beautiful.
On getting back to the farmhouse, I was taken on a tour of the farm, where the family grow rice, bananas, mangos, lychees, coffee, guavas, raise hundreds of chickens, and probably produce some other products I’ve failed to mention. Needless to say at home we get all of this produce in season!
For the rest of the daylight hours I chatted and relaxed with the cousins of Gaurabv, who are all in their twenties, and we got on really well, so it seems my friendship circle may have enlarged ever so slightly! We talked music, sport, drank chiya (milk tea), played cards, and organised for me to visit again. As the evening wore on, a few of the older male family members joined us, obviously having partaken in a little tipple, and the innocent card games with pride being the only thing at stake soon turned into an exercise in Nepali gambling. However bed was soon calling, and seeing as we were in a house with 5 rooms and around 12 people, I ended up sharing a room with 3 of the fells. I felt a little guilty about being given, as the main guest, a double bed all to myself, but that guilt dissipated soon enough with a good night’s sleep.

I have also been back to school this past week, which I am enjoying more and more each day, as I get to know the students better, and get more of a grip on the actual practice of teaching. Discipline is still a problem, but I enforced my first individual and class detentions this week. At first the students thought it was a joke, and most of the teachers were confused that I would want to give up my free time to discipline unruliness, but I did it anyway, and further threats later in the week have been met with almost instantaneous silence and better behaviour. I just need to keep it up! Unfortunately, just as I have been getting into the swing of my teaching again, another two week holiday has been announced, this time for the festival of Tihar/Deepawli. The time off will give me some time to really get into the lesson planning that is so necessary to pull off great lessons, and gather some resources to implement some of the activities I want to do (there is only so much one can do with chalk and a blackboard), but unfortunately Hetauda is not exactly abundant in time-filling activities, so I am slightly concerned about getting bored. And the cold is setting in, which makes showering bloody horrible.
Which is where a bit of Monty Python always comes in useful! In truth I’m really enjoying my time here, and I have been battering myself with Nepali this week in an attempt to learn it as quickly as possible. More news will be on its way soon my friends!