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there also seems to be less time to write about it, in other words, already after three weeks, my blog seems to become outdated.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
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
