A day at the office

In my introduction I said I would write about my day during, and after office hours. However the after office hours stories seem to become quite dominant. In fact, some people even started wondering if there is an office, just to prove this (oooh, somebody's being a bit defensive here) a short impression of what goes on in our little place.
We work on the first floor of the 1905 restaurant, in the centre of Kathmandu (Kantipath for those who like google earth), here, Rene, Verena, Ajay, Bhimsen, Ramesh, Pavrita and me are squeezed in a little room, together

a meeting with the local partner BKN

with a bunch of computers, a large amount of paper and an even bigger amount of ideas. The last bit of free space is occupied by the generator of this all; a coffee machine! (remember, caffeine will save you boys and girls).
I check in around 9 o clock, meeting Rene there, quickly we discuss what the homework was for our Nepali class, which starts around that time. After learning that, for some reason, there are 14 ways of saying 'a little' and even more to say 'nothing', we go up again to meet the rest of the staff. After a short update, everybody starts with his tasks. Rene trying to clone himself, running in and out to write and meet people that are sponsoring the Ingo, people that are ordered by us to do something, other organizations helping, other organizations that we help, etc. Ramesh and me will focus on the paperwork, giving shape to the projects, defining roles and responsibilities between us and other organizations, checking the sponsor children reports, etc. Ajay will work with the volunteers, Bhimsen will visit the sponsor children and Verena will focus on the early childhood development projects.
As suggested in my first post (the final quote) Ramesh has a healthy appetite. Once again, his self control was put to the test when Verena entered the office this morning, in her hand a shiny red apple. She casually put it on the desk, about 20 centimeters from where Ramesh was typing, excused her self for being already late for an appointment and ran out. At first everything seemed fine, but as time past by, I noticed that Ramesh typing rhythm sounded increasingly irregular. Looking over my screen I could see him trying to force himself to look to the screen. However, every now and then his eyes would drift of te the apple, lying there all alone. In the mean time the work went on. Whereas Ramesh was facing his challenge, mine is making phone calls. This seems like a simple thing to most of you but here most of the times I try to reach someone, the following conversation takes place:
Hello?
Hello Namaste, this is Jimi from SVN, can I....
Hello?
Hello this is Jimi, can you hear me?
Namaste
Namaste, I am looking for....
Where are you from?
Euuh, I am from Holland, I work with SVN can I maybe..
Hello?
Hello, who's this? Can I speak to Sonam?
Hello?
Hello this is Jimi, I...
You call from Holland?
No I...never mind, can I speak to....
Hello?

This will continue for a while since it is very normal here to get to know the person on the other end of the line, even when you will probably never speak with each other again. Ramesh is only typing with one hand by now, the other tapping restless on the table. Rene's on the phone, he's caught up in a strike, organized by people because there are too many strikes (this did actually take place!), on his way to the project, so will be slightly delayed, convincing people not to cut his tires. I detect little sweat pearls on the face of Ramesh. Bhimsen comes back in from the field, panting because he spotted a student that stopped for unclear reasons a while ago, ending up chasing him through the suburbs, loosing him on the end. He sits down with Pavrita to give her all the info she needs on the other children. I am not sure but I think the apple has been moved a little. Rene walks in, cursing strikes and everything connected with that in his best Nepali. Ramesh has taken the apple for a close look and asks if anybody knows who's apple this is. The lights switch of the generator takes over. Verena comes in enthusiastic about the meeting she had but before she can explain us Ramesh interferes: 'Excuse me Vererna, is this your apple?' 'Yes.' 'Than why would you put it in front of me for the whole day?' It's six o clock, we have a meeting with our local partner after which we will go home and dream about smooth telephone conversations, apples, open roads and non sportive children. From the little SVN headquarters in the middle of Kathmandu,

namaste

Jimi

back to teaching, more strikes and Pokhara

Namaste from a Katmandu were the monsoon still holds its breath, making it a hot and dusty place. I might have mentioned it before, but due to circumstances, our volunteers at the airport school decided that they had to stop teaching. This was a big loss for this school, that is positioned just outside Katmandu, existing out of a few tiny classrooms. Here, children from the surrounding area that have no possibility of going to another school can join for little or no money. This also means that there is little to no money for maintainance or hiring extra staff. When the volunteers left, it was decided that we should still conitnue for some time each week teaching there, a nice opportunity for me to get away from my number stuffed computer for a couple of hours a week to see if teaching was still rock and roll.

After some preparation with one volunteer who also has the time to help out there, we arrived at the school. First there was class one, I had explained a little about teaching in Nepal and what level we could expect in this class, the latter part needing quick revision: "Hello class, today we are going to make words with the first five letters of the alphabet" around 30 little faces, of which 5 seemed to be asleep, 7 focussed on doing something else, another 7 on what those 7 were doing, 6 smiling in delight at those two strange persons in front of the class while something green was trying to connect their nose with their mouth, and the rest looking at me with a big frown, showing vague recollection. My mistake, let's first start with the base: "the letters of the alphabet, who knows the first one?" Thios question pushed a few of them from one category to the other: "What comes after A?" Aah, at last the red button, the class straightened their backs and started firing of mthe letters in the correct order towards where we were standing, except from one little boy, staying asleep. Walking by I gently lifted his head without paying further attention, the soft bumb I heard when I moved on told me he was not ready yet to leave dreamland.
We are alreday coming to the school for a few weeks now and things are going relatively really well, occasionally you will find the word mango under the question 'write down five names of animals' but there's still time untill the next exam.

This time last year, the king was forced to end his dicatorship by massive protests, connecting all the indigenous parties. Tens of thousands of people marched the streets and paralysed the public life, leaving the king no choice but to give in and reinstall the parlement (who stripped the royal of all his duties the day after). This movement became known as the '2nd andola'. Now, exactly one year later, things are still shaky with everybody waiting for the elections, which are supposed to make Nepal a real democracy, their date being exponed already twice since nobody can garantee a fair and transparent election. This leaved a country without a real government at the moment. The interim government trying to keep the good peace between the political parties (the maoist being one of them now), indigenous parties, and anybody else who feels his rights are endangered. Whereas the 2nd andola probably has been good in the way that it started the process of dethroning a dictator, the organisers behind it decided that all should remember this day by organising another strike. For me it is a riddle how not allowing the children of your country to go to school for yet another day, or people to make business in order to buy food for their families is 'a huge success', as the head of the organization behind the strike called it the next day in the newspaper.

Luckily, the strike only lasted a day, enabling us to leave for Pokhara with the group of new volunteers, which will be the topic of next weeks blog. A big goodbye to everybody from an ever more hot Pokhara were fortunately, it does rain every once in a while,

Jimi

From the hills to the Hyatt

It turns out if there is a lot to write about there also seems to be less time to write about it, in other words, already after three weeks, my blog seems to become outdated. Last week, I had to go on a field trip with one of my colleagues, Ramesh, and a volunteer, Marlies, to fix the final things for the opening of a daycare centre in Barhabise.
Ramesh originally comes from Barhabise, and area that is positioned against the Tibetan border. Especially in the hill areas around the little city there’s a lot of sorrow and poverty, people battling to gather enough food to feed their family on a daily base. So when we found a sponsor willing to provide enough resources, he was thrilled to make a difference in his childhood area. The last months he has been busy to renovate the building, hire staff and select the children, now it was time to get the last things out of the way and officially open the centre. The days before the opening were nice but so different from Katmandu, during the day we were busy admitting the children that were brought down one by one from the hills, installing taps, cleaning the ground in front of the building and arranging paperwork, in the evening there was not more to do than digest the plate of Dal Bhat, looking at the dark hills and listening to the river. The most remarkable moments for me were the way the children accepted each other immediately as there new family, sitting down together and chatting, often not looking back to the figure that was standing in the door, often signed by the hard life he or she was leading up in the mountains, looking at their child with probably very mixed feelings, before turning around and starting the journey home again.
The opening was one of long speeches of eminent members of the community, loads of guests of honour, and a baking sun toasting all of this. A quarrel between neighbours over stolen clothes seemed to be a possible threat in the morning, especially when one of the women went back in the house to return with a big stick, which was taken from and used against her. But as explosive as this almost public execution started it was settled before we even could think of intervening. Apparently, stealing one Sari and giving it to your maid equals five hits, two kicks and a spit in the face, a deal everybody strangely seemed to be fine with.
After these days of rural experience, topped with the opening of the centre we jumped into a minivan and tried to make our way back home for a little less (forgive me your majesty) noble cause......the dutch queens day, hosted by the embassy. Our desire of eating raw fish and drinking orange bitter was seriously compromised when we ended up in a demonstration were we were the only vehicle still driving into the valley. The people on the street were shouting at the car and the situation looked quite tense, especially when a group of around twenty men blocked the way, aggressively commanding us to stop. Here shows experience its value I guess, my boss commanded all bidesis (white faces) to the front and told us to hang out the window screaming about our flight that was about to leave. This confused the angry mob after which we slowly kept moving and got away of them. Three hours after we were standing looking at the big marble walls, enjoying the dutch haring that was flown in directly and all you could drink. It is a cliche to end with, but thinking about this wrinkled little woman, that just looked at her daughter for the last time in a long time, before making her way slowly back up the hills to whatever was waiting for her there, made the fish taste a lot less.

From the balcony of the apartment, while wearing an orange outfit that, according to fashion standards, is probably prohibited in several countries,

Namaste

Jimi

Just another day in Nepal

The sheep is looking at me, with eyes that are filled with sadness. I am staring back curious what’s gonna happen and a little bit frustrated that I had to leave the previous dream for this. The sheep starts to make this wining sounds, it kind of sounds as a strange exotic song of sorrow, repeating over and over again the same.
One more time and I am awake staring at some pictures of family and riends that I glued onto the wall of my room, no more dream, no more sheep but the sound is still there. To be more precise, it’s coming from a few meters away where someone dressed up in the yellow material of the Saddhu (holy men) is standing in front of my window with a bucket to receive gifts in front of him. My foot stretched against the window must have given him enough prove that there was someone inside, willing to make a small donation. When I look at my watch and see it is only 6 in the morning I forget for a second all the cultural differences and picture what kind of a donation I would like to give him. But no, that will definetely give my Kharma account the final blow, after having eaten so many cows in my life. Instead I get out of bed and wave to the figure outside, while smiling summing up all the curses I’ve learned in the last decade. So, another day has began for Katmandu.
After some cups of coffee (the only senseo in whole Nepal happens to be positioned in our kitchen) I can see the beauty of life again and get on my bicycle to head to the office. The Katmandu traffic is like an ocean, when you’re in it you’re part of it, getting into a slight trance in which move along with the waves of cars bikes and anything else that gathers on the packed streets. Suddenly we are at a big intersection and something is disturbing the ocean. In the middle stands a uniform with a big wistle and a bigger gun, angrily waving at the waves to stop. However, the waves can not completely stop and the uniform has only one face to look, everytime it looks in one of the three other ways my waves gets a little bigger and moves forward. The little dry spot of the intersection gets smaller and smaller and the wistling louder and louder. Then the wistle stops, and within seconds, a tsunami bursts out covering the whole intersection.
Fifteen minutes later I managed to squeeze my way through the ocean and cycle relaxed the last ten minutes to the office. Just before I get of a rickshaw cycles up besides me and friendly asks me if I need a ride. Slightly confused over this proposal, wondering if it looks like I really can’t cycle I walk up the stairs, let’s see what this day will bring.

Sitting already way too long on the office, having the many cups affecting my writing seriously,

Namaste

Jimi

A Nepalese eastern

Namaste

It already starts feeling normal to wake up in Katmandu, get out of bed and cycle to the office, dodging rickshaws, cows, and big holes in the road. First, let me start by making some corrections to things I was telling about this city before leaving Holland/Denmark. Starting with the cows, they should be divine and untouchable in this Hindu state, but reality shows a different picture. The other day I had to stop because a cow decided to take a nap in the middle of the road, this happens often and maybe is caused by the cow feeling lonely and claiming some attention in this way, I was convinced that people would accept this as a divine intervention and not move. However, from the other side came a rickshaw swinging around the corner, spotting the heavenly creature too late and bumping in to it. The cow jumped up and ran of into a little alley. But instead of a long painful that for the rickshaw driver, as I expected, everybody started their car and continued their path. Note to myself: cows are not that holy. Now that I notice this I also notice quite a lot of cows limping when walking, presumably from encounters with vehicles.
Ok, back to daily life, last weekend it was eastern, and me and a few others decided that it was nice to do something special for the children's house of Hamro Gaun. We boiled and painted around 45 eggs and made a letter about special spring eggs that by accident had been spread around near the children's house. Not calling it easter since we're here to help and not force western values on the kids (that's right missionaries, take the hint!). Anyways, the children left to visit a monastery on a nearby hill so we could take our time hiding the eggs around the house. After that I went up the hill to find them and take them back to the house. At one point I was standing with one leg on each side of a little creek, lifting the little ones over when the girl that just had been transported to the other side said 'sir, small is nice, yes?' A bit wondering where this was coming from I said, while having the next kid in my hands 'yes sure', after which the girl said with a big smile 'oh, so snake in the water is nice yes?'.....this almost caused me to improve the record of midget throwing, looking down in panic what was swimming in between my legs. It was a little one, probably as harmful as a little bunny but still I have to get used to that kind of stuff.
The rest of the program went really well, although the story caused unpredicted questions as: 'Why does bunny need eggs?' 'No, he does not lay them, he collects them.' 'So bunny steals eggs from birds?' 'So bunny is bad animal yes?' After we recovered most of the eggs we made a big salad of them, finishing the day in style.
Ok, I guess that's about it for today, sorry for still not showing some pictures, my real fake sony decided to take a sabbatical. However, I'll borrow something else to make the side a bit more visual.

From a sunny Katmandu with the familiar feeling in my stomach that one gets when eating a little too much egg salad,

Namaste

Coming back to Nepal

Last monday, I arrived in Katmandu, the first thing I noticed was that it was about 20 degrees warmer than I expected, it’s summer in the mountains! The first week was quite hectic, getting back in the work and figuring out what that work was all about. Also there were some urgent cases which had to be done right away. The first term of the INGO has ended a few months ago, at the moment, we are working hard to finish the five year plan for the coming years which has to be approved by the government so that our INGO status will be extended. However, as many of you know the organization has been working with one organization that went ‘bad’ using the money we sponsored not on the children’s house as agreed but on other stuff. This resulted in a big conflict between SV the Netherlands and this local NGO, which was also looked at by the evaluation commission that brings out a report before we can submit our plans for the coming years. This report turned out really one sided, and unfortunately not our side so we quickly had to prepare a defense for our presentation on the report last friday. After looking through all matters it was time to put on a suit and stand before the social welfare councel and the evaluation team, defending what we could with solid arguments and what we couldn’t with american like drama, the result was not brilliant but satisfactory so we could start the weekend with a good feeling. I will also keep writing what I am working on but maybe it is better to visit the website: http://www.stichting-veldwerk.org/ to see what the INGO is doing in Nepal.

Enough about that, what about Nepal? Well, after the peace treaty it became this idyllic little democracy in the mountains where the air is fresh and the life is good........Not! The big problem is now that since the oppression by the maoist and the government stopped to be officially present people discovered that they are actually not all similar, and suddenly everybody heavily connects with his or her ethnicity. Basically everybody wants to be better represented in the coming government and decided that the way to be sure is to block roads, protest and riot, first it was the people from the plains, than the people from the mountains, than the students, than the shopkeepers, than the students, that the business people, and probably tomorrow the union of angry house moms. It’s just a demonstration or roadblock everyday so you start to take it a little less heavy. Yesterday I was asking my colleague Ajay who it was going to be tomorrow, he said the beggars were so pissed of about not being represented that they go on strike and will not beg until their situation improves. The nasty thing about it all is that everything that comes into Nepal has to be transported over one highway from India, this highway is an attractive target so all incoming traffic is blocked. Therefore, there is almost no petrol or gas in Katmandu, together with the long periods without electricity it makes you feel like it was the beginning of the 19th century.

For the rest there have been some small changes in what I expected, the Nepalese lessons will start first next week and I moved into an appartment that I share with two other people, my boss Rene, and another colleague Verena, instead of having my own. This means a little less private space than expected but nice evenings on the balcony and cosy to have other people in the house, pics will follow. Ok, if you’re still with me by now Respect! I will finish with the wise words of my colleague Ramesh when I looked in amazement at the speed he was eating his lunch:

“Him who does not value his big belly, does probably not value anything at all!”

From my own little place in Kathmandu were soon the lights will go off for the next 7 hours,

Namaste

Jimi
Mobile: +9779851102251

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M/S. Stichting Veldwerk the Netherlands
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Katmandu
Nepal