making mountains out of deserts

I made it to Doha, Qatar, four nights ago--27 hours, many cancelled and delayed flights late--but I made it. Mandy and Eric have continued the undeserved hospitality I have received throughout my travels. We've already eaten great food, shopped at H&M, drank coffee and tea, admired the Muslim women clothed head to toe in respect of their tradition (all the while toting outrageous purses, shoes and sunglasses...you accessorize when at all possible, I guess), cried watching 'Atonement', chosen some fine fabric, been puzzled by the Islamic men's fascination with their vehicles, and I am adjusting to the sudden shift: a land of tropics and mountains to the desert of the Middle East; a Hindu/Buddhist dominated culture to that of Islam. What an honor to be a learning drifter.

But such change did not come until after Britta and I made a surprise visit to our cuties at Harka, went on trek number two with Guru outside of Pokhara, observed Nepalis choose a new government for themselves, and spent a last day in Kathmandu with Oz and friends.

The kiddos were completely ecstatic, especially Jamuna (a much lovier, hole in her achilles tendon, child [apparently she was riding on the back of the bicycle with Prim, the house father who Britta and I cannot stand, and she got her foot caught in the back wheel spokes to the point that we're pretty sure she'll have nerve damage for the rest of her life]), Tulie, Ashish, Budi, and Manish. 'Fender' (Manish's nickname) whispered "Geeraph" from behind the door and five minutes later presented us both with works of art. My mom, dad, and sisters sent clothes for each one of the children which could not have been a bigger hit. The boys proudly displayed their WWE wrestling shirts and the girls looked beautiful in all their colorful, cute outfits.

Britta and I played Santa Claus

Tulie Bulie

The youngsters with their new outfits...pockets were popular

those girls LOVED their new style!

We spent time in the fields, helped cook, slept the night away as rain thundered on the tin roof and quieted the jungle fires that had stormed through earlier in the evening. Our goodbyes the next day were less emotional with a fulfilled promise that we would, in fact, return. Minus the fact that Secil, Sarswati, Radika, Samjana, and Ishwor were absent (visiting grandparents), our visit couldn't have been better.

Day one of trek two took us on several local buses from Lakeside (including our mountain village rooftop adventure), and climbed our way to Chiso Pani (cold water) where we saw instantly rewarding sites of the Annapurna Range (the crystal clear view was similar to what took 12 days to see in Everest) and arrived after dark to a family of 9 who took us in for the night. As Guru chatted away and made friends with everyone he met, we realized that our position as observer had escalated to literal and figurative new heights. And we definitely had our first taste of Roxy, mountain-made local liquor...could have been better.

After this first day, we quickly learned that Guru's 4-5 hour estimates were more accurately 8 hours and that it was the "Nepali way" to stop and chitchat with strangers for an average of 45 minutes. And then there was the heat...oh, the heat...it made us finished with trekking. But we pressed on, and found moments of absolute joy: when we stopped on the side of the road for a break and 3 children ran from their house to happily pick fistfuls of their wildest berries; the fact that we didn't see another foreigner for 4 of the 5 days we hiked; the hospitality of Guru's friend and his family as we acted as their unexpected guests; gnawing at sugarcane; the night sky so filled with stars that it looked as though God pricked a million holes in a black-clothed sun; the nature of walking through villages, alongside river basins, and next to the Himalayas.

A sunburn, calloused feet, hot showers, a little internet (when gloom entered my heart as I realized my Memphis Tigers had lost while I was in the mountains), and good food later, Britta and I had left Pokhara and given a last hoorah to Kathmandu. We feasted with Oz and his friends Greg, James, Alice, Kylie, Tim & Mai (who were the cutest couple/hosts that had been working for USAid since the Kennedy administration)--couldn't imagine a better send-off.

Britta is in England having an hilarious time, I'm sure, with our friend, Hayley, and I will be spoiled for the next few days here in Qatar, and enter the United States of America Saturday night. We are both so excited to see family and friends and to soon start the next chapter of this life. Thank you all for participating in our story--one that has inevitably shaped my character, passion, and family--who knew the youngest of 3 girls would ever have so many younger siblings herself!

More photos will come stateside. Until then, peace, grace and love to all, Becca.

detours

We've been nestled back into Kathmandu for the past couple of days now since our 25 day trip turned into 15 days of glorious and torturous heights.  Our tales included two Swedes, sore knees, suspension bridges, a snowstorm whose flakes resembled Dip N Dots vanilla ice cream, local lodges, a lama slumber party, mountains of the most famous caliber, the cutest (and some of the more annoying) Sherpa babies, hard decisions, and thankful encounters.  Perhaps the best way to go about this telling of our times is to just share with you some of my daily entries.  

Day One: Monday, March 17, 2008.

Our 25 days to and from Sagarmatha began with a dreaded bus ride to Jiri.  The alleged 10 hours, however, was 7, and we did not lose our lives.  It was an absolute roller coaster and Britta nervously spun our Om Shante luck ring.  I never want to forget the old monk whose eyes were glass and smile broad.  His unusually large hands comforted his sister monk like a father as the bus swerved to the dislike of her stomach and equilibrium.  We officially begin our hike tomorrow, and for the night are resting at Sagarmatha Lodge & Cafe House Restaurant, room Makalu 8463 meters (Everest is across the hall, home to the Spaniards).  Wel-come.

Day Two: Tuesday, March 18, 2008.

On our journey from Jiri to Sivalaya we took an unexpected detour some 3 hours down a valley into the backyards of farmers building houses made of stone they chiseled themselves.  We were lost.  A cute 10 year old boy held 100 Rupees in one hand and a smile in the other as we paid him a modest sum to take us to a small mountain town bordered by a river.  

Our aching bodies drank milk tea, rejoined the comradery of our Swedish boys, and gained two more: Sarah from Holland and Robbie from California [the only American we would see for 10 days], plus a host of sweet Sherpas with healthy laughs and chess skills (I got cornered into checkmate after 8 minutes).  We are joined by candlelight and food at the 'New' Sherpa Guide Lodge & Valley Restaurant that boasts of "The Best Chips in Nepal."

Day Four: Thursday, March 20, 2008.

"Hello, pen." -every child we past from Bandar to Kinja who robotically asked for pens and sweets.  A cutie little boy was the only one on the giving end as he gifted Britta with a smile and a flower.  We a much-needed pitstop in Kinja for some food and relaxation.  The sun has left us with crisp layers of red skin and our packs with arthritic shoulders and necks.  After a wee rest we plan to hike on up to Sete for a night's rest...we'll see.

And so it is that we made it up the long climb where Kinja turned into a village of dollhouses and construction men hit on us.  

We found ourselves at yet another Sherpa Guide Lodge with a beautiful stairwell, comfortable beds, and the most adorable staff (8 year old houseboy and the Nepali version of Edge, U2's electric guitar player).  With good advice from him, the German couple and their guide, and the smiling good nature of their two porters, this was more than a pleasant stay.

Day Six: Saturday, March 22, 2008.

Rest Day...and how grand it is to rest.  Our little crew of Tobie & Johan (our unofficial Swedish trekking partners) and Demien & Connor (young father and 11 year old son from Vancouver, Canada) all took the day of leisure in Junbesi at the 70s Happy New Year/Merry Christmas decor of Junbesi Guest Lodge & Restaurant.  

We anticipated our remaining journey, shared in the agony/thrill of our previous leg, read, bathed in the sun, walked around the small village, did not go to the monastery because we chose to be lazy, and found Milky-like biscuits (a favorite brand).

I also discovered Sherpa Stew...a new staple in my remaining meals.

The legs are ready for more.

Day Eight: Monday, March 24, 2008.

Starting the day off, we continued down, down, down through rainforest surroundings of singing birds and mossy trees to the foot of the Dudh Kosi River where we crossed a steel bridge that would be used in movies if only you could carry cameras through such terrain.

As we turned upward, we made a lunch pitstop in Chokha where the chairman of something (Britta's convinced he was a political figurehead) greeting us with a welcoming smile.

We continued up and down through Kara Koli and up the interminable hike to Bupsa...ah, Bupsa....our little paradise.  What we thought was  a 5:00pm arrival was actually 2:30pm, so Gajid Sherpa hosted us with our first hot shower, took us to the small town's monastery, and insisted that we spin the giant prayer wheels while Bamala, his wife, filled us up with the tastiest of food.  Part of us wants to stay here forever with the cutest Sherpa couple.

Day Ten: Wednesday, March 26, 2008.

And we made it...to Namche, that is.  The long day from Cheplung to Namche finally came and now we are waiting in this truly bizarre mini-Pokhara/Thamel Disneyworld nestled in between the Himalayas at 3440meters (11,000ish feet) with streams upon streams of Asians and pre-teen Europeans bombarding our once difficult but treasured lonely path.  

We took our time stopping in Phakding for tea and biscuits and Monjo for the best lunch yet (fresh tomato soup, hot mango juice, and homemade jam...we're definitely stopping there on the way back), and then after crossing bridge after bridge of rough wind and loose boards, we put one foot in front of the other up to Hotel Tibet where the prices have officially risen and the dinner are much warmer.  We made a pitstop late in the afternoon at the Namche Bakery (surprise, surprise) and met our first group of Americans coming back down from Kala Pathar and Island Peak.  It appears that Britta and I have reached semi-celebrity status for our long trek from Jiri with no porters.  

I slept curled up like a hermit crab which does nothing good for your back...blanket tomorrow night for sure.

And so we'll take another much-needed day off to get even more used to this lack of oxygen and tourist crowds...and hopefully clothe ourselves more appropriately for the cold.

Day Twelve:  Friday, March 28, 2008.

We woke up this morning with plans to hike to Tengboche via the Everest View Hotel.  We stored away our excess baggage, stuffed the 10 Snicker bars in our packs, hugged our boys and said Adieu (they were headed for the treasured Goyko Circuit...which I will for sure do next time)...Unfortunately, on the way up to the hotel, Britta started feeling much worse than the day before.  

With our bodies so exhausted from Jiri, the slightest bit of illness cripples the body, and so she descended back to Namche to rest and I went on to see the clouded Everest, Nuptse, and the staggering beauty of Ama Dablam.  I sipped my hot lemon in the midst of these giants and silence, minus the wind and a few birds.

I am so thankful that we made it this far, and perhaps later in my life I'll be back to visit this hidden (except to the thousands of expeditions and groups shuffled in and all the China media attention about running the torch to the top of the North Face) landscape.

We are going to try to make it to Tengboche for a few nights tomorrow via the much easier path..step by step.

If not, we've already concocted a rather fabulous remainder of our stay including K-du, Osborne, Pokhara, and our babies.

Day Thirteen: Saturday, March 29, 2008.

Once again we awoke and packed our bags for Tengboche.  We made it to the Stupa with a cloudless perfect view of Lhotse Shar, Everest, and Ama Dablam.  We took picture after picture of the mountains, us with them, Chuck (my ugly doll) and Buddha (for Britta's dad) with them.  It was beautiful.

We kissed the air, and with mixed emotions turned downwind toward Lukla.  Though my overtly competitive nature was disappointed that we couldn't be closer, that we couldn't finish our 'setout task' (whatever that American mindset means), I was far more overwhelmed with thankfulness to God for bringing us to this country together, for giving us good health, and allowing us the wisdom to maintain such health.

Thank you God for your presence, and Britta's friendship.

Day Fifteen: Monday, March 31, 2008.

As the early sun opened up my lids yet again, we watched the mountains for one last intimate time as we boarded a 20 passenger Sita Air carrier and flew in 20 minutes what it took for us 10 hours by bus and 10 days by feet.

Everything was surreal from above, as it usually is:  rice paddies and terraces that resemble an architect's model or an earth-sized tapestry.  The mountains were there, and then they weren't.  

And so we flew our tiny plane into Kathmandu, got the news that the Kathmandu Guest House was full, wandered into an even more delightful lodge, Sun Rise Cottages, and Osborne welcomed us back with open arms for the remainder of our week here.

The day continued to get better as Britta found her puffy vest, we ate a delicious dinner at the Organic Cafe (put organic in the title and Westerners will come) while eavesdropping on the table next to us that included Tim, a Canadian Everest expedition leader- definitely googling him later on- and the greatest news of all, and perhaps a perfect ending to our eclectic Nepali travels: a Guru-guided 4-day adventure in the backwoods of Pokhora--staying only with the families along the road, and getting as far away from tourists as possible.  This would be after we make a day visit back to our kiddos to pick up a package, take some photos in their new clothes sent by my family and do some lovin (we have a feeling that Jamuna is going to just run up to us crying).

This would also mean that we would have traveled to our major destinations 2 or more times each...just hopscotching across Nepal.

____

And so that's just what we're doing.  Tomorrow we leave for a bonus night with our children that Britta and I took 3 days to decide whether or not that was emotionally wise, will hopefully paraglide in Pokhara with sky-high views of the Annapurna Range, and then go on a 4 day trek with Guru.  We'll come back next Friday night just in time to share one last night and morning with Oz (it has been more than wonderful reconnecting with this friend), and then Britta and I fly out (me to Doha, Qatar, to spend quality time with my darling Mandy Plummer-Heller, and Britta to see our pal Hayley in England) Saturday night.  

Hopscotch fo sho.

on our way to the goddess of the sky...

No doubt that our week in Pokhara was relaxing, cathartic, and gluttonous.  We ate at every 'German' bakery that tempted us with their apple strudels and not-so chocolate cakes, and enjoyed delicious Indian and Nepali food every night.  Fortunately, we came across early in the week two staples:  a small breakfast eatery for which the name escapes me & the Almond Cafe.  We ate at this small family business and enjoyed every breakfast of our time in Pokhara, and at the Almond Cafe, where we were sure of its food because only locals ate there, the waiter took a liking to us and we got a few tummy aches from eating ourselves silly with Nepali food.  

One day we took a day hike to the neighborhood Stupa which would have been the most delightful view of the town if the Annapurna mountain range hadn't remained elusive until our very last morning (those mountains were just a tease, really, insisting that next time we spent our trek-time on their grounds and paraglided through their skies), and made two friends along the way.  One, a 9 year old Nepali boy and two, a 60 year old French female artist.  He served as our cute porter who knew flawless English, showed us his school in the mountains, could say hello in 6 languages, and educated us of his hometown.  She became an instant friend who was a bit insecure with her English (though, of course, she was brilliant), picked up pieces of trash along the hike to add to an art piece she was working on in Pokhara, and had traveled the world (and was on her way to Calcutta for one of her shows) to present her art.  She was strong, beautiful, and a creative spirit.  It made me look forward to the array of characters we will inevitably meet on our trek.  

We arrived back in Kathmandu yesterday afternoon to the unbelievable hospitality of an old high school friend of mine, Osborne, who is working at the American Embassy for the next year and a half (total of 2 years).  In the midst of catching up on each others' lives, Britta and I found ourselves being astounded by his apartment filled with washer/dryer, refrigerator, and microwave (thought we'd been teleported back to America for a second there), and being overwhelmed by his hospitality.  Above and beyond.  He should go in to hotel management...or more friends should visit him in Kathmandu (:  

Tomorrow morning, bright & early at 5:45am, Britta and I catch our longggg bus to Jiri, the starting point of our 25 day adventure.  Like the vast majority of our time in Nepal, many unknown stories await us, and hilarity to be sure.  I look forward to sharing with you all many a ditty when I return to K-du April 11th.  

Until then, Namaste.... 

photosphotosphotos

Britta has been able to add many great pics of the kiddos on her website, so you should definitely check them out:

www.morethanmountains.blogspot.com

And I have added a great cluster more to my Snapfish album (I promise to use an easier method to view when I'm not paying money for computers):

www.snapfish.com

email: bereccasmith@yahoo.com
password: bereccasmith

More blog entries to come!

playa from the himalayas

Britta and I find ourselves sitting in a town called Pokhara, surrounded by too many hippies with bad dreads, high speed internet (I've had dreams of this for 2 months now), bakeries to satisfy our dulled diets of dalbaht and biscuits, fogged-in Himalayan mountains (in which we've only actually seen 2 days since January...come on now), and a vacant room in our hearts for children 97 kilometers and worlds away from this touristy haven of lakes and supposed mountains.

Our last few days at Harka we spent each minute with the kiddos playing familiar games and taking a multitude of photos and videos. Ashish continued to try to snag the scraps of potatoes and cauliflower we cut for dinner, Jamuna kept on eating the orange rinds off the ground, Tulie's 24 hour snotty nose still ran, Soniya didn't stop with the notes and illustrations to her sitaras, Sirjana couldn't stop giving me her photogenic smile, and Secil never even thought about ending the constant, "Photo, one minute." (his adorable plea to be photographer for more than one minute.)

Britta made the comment on the morning of our departure that the night before the last night seems to always be better than the last night: less pressure & expectations. And so it was that after dinner the night before the last night with no electricity and a sky filled with glitter I sat on a bench with Manish on my left, Soniya behind with arms draped around my neck, and Sarswati leaning on my right side. We sat like that, silent, for a good 15 minutes. They knew, I knew, but there was no pressure or expectations...not this night. And so we communed together under stars and with the comfort and trust of knowing you're where you're supposed to be. A beautiful gesture of love that needs no translation.

But this is not to say that the night before our departure was not good...besides the inevitable stress, it was hilarious. After a morning of finishing the wall mural and packing, we started cooking in the afternoon with the anticipation of Laxmi's arrival (when it always gets unpredictable and dramatic). As Britta and I sat in the firepit fort making roti (bread) and veggies, a more excited than usual voice beckoned our attention. I went to Laxmi as she was waiting outside our door and she, acting with teenage giddiness whispered, "Backa [my name], beer...beer." That's right, Laxmi bought us both a liter of Mt. Everest beer. Of course, we candidly placed them away from the childrens' eyes (but later got pictures, encouraged by Laxmi, with our beer and the kiddos). This was our first drop of alcohol since our departure, and we're both lightweights; therefore, we didn't finish our liter.

We had an absolute feast, wore saris, and gave all the children their gifts. The biggest hits by far were Sheena's suckers,

glowsticks I brought from home, the bandanas my mom sent, the frog with a crown that has 'Kiss me' on its stomach and smooches 3 times when you press it (Rachel, I thought it an appropriate gift for Tulie Bulie--Levi would approve), and all the bracelets we gave the kids (including, the colorful collection of Friendship bracelets). We danced, the little bits stayed up to 10:30, Sirjana added a blanket headwrap to my already strictly Nepali wear, and we slept hard. I woke up early with the expected shallow pit of the stomach feeling. We took more pictures, we did final Febreze sprays on their school uniforms (the remaining bottle yet another gift they were ecstatic over), and Soniya refused to smile for the last photos. Our bus left at 9:30. The kids were purposefully late to school and we were late to the bus (though it waited). Hugs and kisses were all around, and in the midst of it all, Tulie cried out to Britta, "Mith, gu, pani, bye." (Translation: "Miss, poop, water, bye.") Britta took her and Jamuna to the squatter, and later I hugged and kissed Tulie as she tried her best to gu. The only youngster that really lost it was Ashish because Kumari (neither one of us are big fans) kept on telling him that we were leaving...no concept of childrens' emotions, that woman. Soniya and Budi kept screaming goodbyes from their school path, and I cried my way to the bus.

There is less devastation than when I left Hajari and crew in Hong Kong, however, because we both want to sustain our relationship as Didi with these children who have had little sustainability (besides baisi dung to oven gas) in their own lives. We seriously have every desire to return...couple years from now, perhaps, but return nonetheless.

If nothing else, I have to see Manish as a teenager. I am speaking of this middle school blog title's namesake. Manish, a twelve year old boy who loves wrestling, somewhat gently invites Gonga and Secil to participate, quietly goes about chores, and who will win any person over with his startling and suppressed smile.

The first day, way back when, we had the crazy immersion of 15 children, their names, attention, personalities, and quarks. Since I had no set remembrance of any names until day five, I called Manish, Fender, because someone gave him a Fender guitar tee shirt and he wore it well. The nickname stuck even after his real name did, and 2 weeks into our going to school ritual, Manish surprisingly took my hand and bestowed the name Giraffe for me, Tiger for Britta. It was actually more like Geeraph.

Manish (Fender) with Radhika (Bright Eyes)

The first week Britta and I pretty much decided that if we were in middle school we would totally have a crush on this boy...he's an introverted, sometimes too cool for school, doll. What a cutie. We were also terrified, after saying how darn cute he was in front of him, that he was actually fluent in English (thankfully not the case). That first month, after he came a tad bit out of his shell, he would be picked up by his best friend, Bullay, on bike and return with little fruits that resemble crabtree droppings as secret presents only for Britta and me. And in the middle of these small gifts, one night while cooking dinner, he grabbed my wrist and put a black plastic bracelet on...I haven't taken it off yet.

He had his weeks of being the introvert he is, but once I found out that he was the most ticklish creature God ever created, no matter how distant he was, a smile always came when I attacked the ribs.

One bad habit we immediately broke him of was saying, "Goodnight, Baby." That only lasted one night. He took the photo project very seriously, and stole our cameras whenever he got the chance. Even as a twelve year old he would shed his cool demeanor to hold our hands and allow us to hug him. And on the last morning as I watched him on his top bunk rummaging through his gifts, I caught him writing 'Becca' and 'Britta' with marker on his bandana, and when he found the giraffe sticker we specifically gave him he looked up and excitedly said, "Becca, look, Geeraph."

___

We will be in this relaxing haven for another 3 days, go to Kathmandu for the weekend where I get to reunite with a high school friend who is conveniently living and working in K-du, and then Monday we take the interminable busride to Jiri...the start of our 25 day trek to Saggarmatha, or Mt. Everest.

I will definitely blog once more before the 25-day hiatus...and hopefully a whole bunch of photos to peruse.

dog dimples

"It is only now, these years later, that Rahel with adult hindsight recognized the sweetness of that gesture. A grown man entertaining three raccoons, treating them like real ladies. Instinctively colluding in the conspiracy of their fiction, taking care not to decimate it with adult carelessness. Or affection.

It is after all so easy to shatter a story. To break a chain of thought. To ruin a fragment of a dream being carried around carefully like a piece of porcelain.

To let it be, to travel with it, as Velutha did, is much the harder thing to do."

Arundhati Roy's The God of Small Things is one of the many novels Britta and I have gone through since we've been in Nepal. This excerpt is a reflection of the central character, Rahel's, childhood in which she, her twin brother, and cousin would use their 7-year-old imaginations to create an entire universe all to themselves. And during the day they would entertain their neighbor friend, Velutha, an Untouchable (lowest level of the Indian caste system) in his twenties who protected their childhood by going along with their imaginations...edifying their make believe.

I started to cry (I know, way too early for that) the other morning while playing with Ashish and Secil next to a morning fire cooking rice. It was the usual games of tickle fits and peek-a-boo but at one single moment I got a rush of realization: I have had the rare opportunity to sit in on young childrens' stories and dreams and conspiracies of fiction.

It happens just about every day when the older kiddos are at school that the younger four gather flowers, grab a huge stone, and start pounding them into 'chutney' (mimicking the salsa we make with tomatoes and stone and cilantro)...that concoction is then served on large leaves on an elegant floor of dirt and mud. I will miss this delicacy along with Secil's treasures of pencil tops and trash, Jamuna's facial expressions, Tulie's snotty smooches. Their whispers and giggles have been the grandest gesture of an invitation to childhood once again. It breaks my heart that they have no idea we're leaving in five days. Okay, still too early to start crying.

Seeing that our departure is Sunday morning, we are busybusy getting together our going away presents for all the children...and 17 is quite the task. Both Britta and I have a couple pieces of jewelry that we will leave, several goodies that we brought and have saved for such an occasion, and Sheena sent material for Friendship Bracelets that we have been mass producing. I seriously feel like I am 8 years old again going to summer camp (and I can still picture them all the way up my oldest sister's arm as she sported her '80s look (: ). The children have exams all this week which not only means working on our English reading and Algebra skills but also having all children home the vast majority of the week. So these last days are certainly l.o.n.g. ones. In addition to compiling gifts, we have taken the task of a wall mural in the children's room. And I'm not gonna lie, it's amazing! Britta brought a shoebox full of craft paint that we have turned into pictoral ABCs and 123s next to their beds. And being the talented artist that she is, Britta painted the most adorable pictures next to every letter including B for Balloon, G for Giraffe, R for Rhino, and J for John Cena (for those who don't know [I'm expecting most of you] he is the WWE world wrestling champion)!!

The older children have been reacting differently due to our upcoming departure...Sirjana could not be more sweet and clingy, Ramesh could not be more obnoxious asking for 15 different gifts, and both Sima and Soniya go in spurts of being snuggly and giggly to being super mad and giving us the cold shoulder. Which brings me to my girl, Soniya.

I see more of myself in this 9-year-old jokester than any of the other children, barnone. It all started at the beginning (as it tends to do), when for the first week or so Soniya did her best to not speak the words she knew in English and keep us confused as she spattered off directions and ditties in Nepali. She would laugh and carry on, making me entirely annoyed until I finally learned to play her game. So whenever she would jabber on, I would repeat the same speed talk in English making exaggerated facial expressions and cackle all the while...she would laugh hysterically as if to say, "Alright now, you can roll with my game." The game being sarcasm, of course. Those close to me know that I have used this since I was a wee lass (much to the chagrin of my middle sister), and can sense it out even through a different language.

Around the same time we realized yet another, and even more unique, similarity. We both have a scar on our right cheek that disguises itself as a dimple...and hers was made by a dog's clinched jaw as well.

Needless to say, we've been best buds ever since. Her impeccable posture, dark, rich skin, thick short hair, and loud, honest laugh are the characteristics to a young girl who wears her emotions on her sleeves (she can't help but cry when one of the older boys makes her mad) and who was born to nurture as she continuously takes Babu to her side or gives Tulie a gentle kiss on the cheek.

Soniya with Babu

Yesterday while I was painting she asked me if when I went back to America if I would forget about her. Sooooo something I would have thought and most likely said to any of my camp counselors growing up, and it's as if they've had us for an entire summer. By living with her emotions so loosely dangled around her neck, she allows herself to hurt more and get far too upset over simple things, but she also makes herself available to love with a strong, passionate, profound, even sarcastic language.

"america is silly"

Saturday morning one section of our unconventional family departed for a day trip to the national park. Wearing their finest attire, Secil (5), Samjana (6), Radika (7), Ishwor (8), and Buddhi (10), carried their ever-present grins and curiosity through every nook and cranny of the day. The following are just a few of the many highlights:

1. The straight-billed Harry Potter hat Secil wore...if only he knew that this teenage wizard was in fact the world's most famous orphan--an appropriate hero.

2. Buddhi's naturalist eyes during the safari as he pointed out the hidden wildlife even before our guide spotted them.

3. The fact that each child took more of a variety of transportation than ever before: local bus, rickshaw, elephant, truck and taxi.

4. Watching Buddhi stick his head out of the taxi's backseat window as he felt the wind through his hair.

5. Secil: "Abba, abba, abba." (a Nepali word we don't know)
Me, sarcastically: "Oh, are you referring to the Swedish pop band, Secil?"
Secil, confidently: "Yesth." (this is his typical lisped response)

6. Hankerchiefs make snot/bratface Samjana more than tolerable...in fact, lovable.

7. We found a secret, rotten playground just before the safari, so naturally we soared on swings and squeaked down slides.

8. While giving the children a tour of our hotel that we had stayed at, Ishwor looked at the ropes that were bordering their gardens and responded, "Look, wrestling!!!" He then proceeded to climb between the ropes into the 'ring' like his favorite WWE (no more WWF) performers...we pray they take to reading soon.

9. We got more than one interested stare seeing that 2 white women were holding hands with 5 Nepali children all day.

10. Overweight Slovak men wearing speedos climbed elephants in water to background working Nepali women washing clothes. Secil pointed to these men and back to us, "Same, same." We tried to explain that all white people aren't the same...but they were too overwhelmed...and we don't know their language.

11. On the road leading up to the park the children kept screaming "Hati, hati!" at every picture of an elephant, but when they saw their first one strut in front of our restaurant while eating breakfast, they remained wide-eyed and jaw-dropped.

Our day consisted of dal bhat fine dining with fork and spoon,


Radika & Budi

First time using a napkin for Secil

watching elephants bathe, playing on ground, staring as more elephants pounded their selves downtown, the actual safari where the children saw monkeys, a rhino, deer, and numerous birds, and sweets like cake and pie.

The kids were kinda small for the elephant boxseat

And who could forget the taxi ride back which the children almost liked more than the elephant safari!

Radika, our hazeled eyed 8 year old, was nothing but giggles and beauty the entire day.

In fact, the first week we arrived when all the childrens' names ran together, I referred to her as Bright Eyes. They're stunning, and as an advocate for short hair, this girl was made to wear it. She is one of the 3 girls who rotate everyday for position next to Britta's hand on the way to school....they recently developed a schedule which has quieted the fighting (: But on this day, her small teeth and tan skin soaked in not only more sun but the majesty of wildlife and jungles and the awkwardness of riding an elephant. She along with the other children were so delightful all day long. At the end of the day Britta and I found ourselves wishing we could have spent such intentional time with every single kid like we did with these five.

We came back home to hugs and kisses, and our kiddos were able to brag about the whole day. Since they were the only ones who hadn't been yet, it was if they were chiming in on the long string of elephant tales (pun included).

The next day I was taken to the Emergency Room in an ambulance. Let me explain. All day Sunday I was having incredible upperabdomenal pain (mixture of severe heartburn and a thousand punches to the gut). I am one who has much experience in the gastrointestinal area, and had never experienced such pain. Naturally we were a little nervous, so when it got nothing but worse later on that night Britta called Laxmi and said that we needed to go to the doctor just to get some medication, she immediately came with an ambulance to pick me up at the orphan home. Think of this ambulance as a little less flamboyant than Scooby and the gang's Mystery Machine. The ER proved to be a couple doctors and friends smiling and laughing repeating "Kursani, kursani," (chili) which did nothing but make me furious. Britta defended my body by saying that we have eaten chili twice a day for 6 weeks. They were a little impressed and asked if I had taken any meds that day. After confessing of 4 IBprofins, their eyes got wide and worry turned to an immediate shot. Only when we returned to our room did we read that that's not what you're supposed to take if you have any kind of stomach pain. A little embarrassing. But a couple days and only a little pain later, and I survived yet another hospital visit in the month of February. That makes 3 in the past 4 years...this month is just asking for trouble. I didn't have Jocelyn this time, but Britta was there every step of the way..you would have been proud, Joce.

Our departure is approaching ever-nearer, and the kids have off caught wind. Sima screamed in horror, Soniya has written me 2 notes in the past 2 days that say "I love you, Bicca, my sitara (sister)," and as everyone was going to bed the other night, Kumari (housemom) and Ramesh (oldest boy) were trying to convince us not to got back to America. We tried to explain that we had to go see our families to which Kumari responded, "No go. Orphan home children, you(r) Nepali family," and Ramesh added, "America is silly." (It is the one word he has not understood even though we have tried to explain it for the past 6 weeks).

And so after rhinos and elephants, taxis that make a young boy's hair bend with the wind, and mystery machines as ambulances, I know only two things for sure: love oozes from the pores of our Nepali family and America is, indeed, silly.

pretty in pink

Since our mini-excursion last week to the National Park, life has been back to normal in our little world...for the most part. Britta and I have made a record 4 different trips to the Naranghat market (an 8 mile trek roundtrip that we scurried to only 3 times our entire first month) for various reasons:

1) our kiddos finally finished their photo assignments (or their 'have as much fun as you possibly can taking pictures with an old film camera' project...see Britta's blog for an for more details), and so we dropped off the film and yesterday picked up the final results of hilarious self portraits/baby goats/baisi/modeling shots that included many of us..the children loved them-->success.

Ashish shows off his skills

2) Laxmi informed us last weekend that she wanted to buy us a present for our time spent at the orphan home, so our first day back we picked out fabric and a sweet tailor took our measurements for a Nepali Kurta Salwar (long tunic-type top that reaches the knees and tight ankle pants). It was the first time either one of us had had anything professionally tailored, and both turned out beautiful.

3) We found a small bakery with the most divine sweet bars (think of the perfect consistency of the inside of a butterfinger with pistachios on top)....and had to get our fill of dudchia (milk tea).

Besides days out on the town, home as been plugging right along. New mom (Samjana), her 15 month old boy (Manish), and 5 year old Manessa have snuggled in quite nicely after the initial crowdedness.

Babu, Samjana, Manessa

In fact, the more Samjana talks the more her voice reminds me of a young Lauren Bacall (the falling-in love with Humphrey Bogart at the age of 19 Lauren)...smooth and deep, and incredibly lovely. The older girls have been weening Baboo (baby boy) off of his mother's breast by including him in play time, and Manessa is an adorable free spirit, who, when we gave her a camera yesterday (she was excluded in the first batch because she wasn't here), and I took the first picture of her grinning, she cooed, giggled, then grabbed my face with both hands and gave me Italian kisses.

Tomorrow we take our five to the wildlife. Should be more than fantastic. Stories to come.

The spotlight now turns to Sarswati, our 8 year old servant intellect whose fashion taste makes the most of her village life, and whose smile makes you believe in peace.

Barnone, she gets the gentle spirit award for our crew. In fact, just a few weeks in when Britta and I were getting a little tired of the stares and laughs, we focused on the night when we waited for the lights to go back on in order to eat dal bhat, and as Britta and I were sitting on one of the children's beds, Sarswati snuggled in between us and held our hands. We sat there in complete silence for about 15 minutes. There was so much warmth, protection, and love in those 15 minutes that it muted every annoyance we could have imagined.


Sarswati with best bud, Sima

Her signature red hat

That is the perfect picture for this child. She is so rare that I can't even compare her to someone I've met in my lifetime (maybe a Lauren Plummer...quiet, funny, gentle, smart, etc. [don't think you're not, lady]). Everyone loves her but there is not one ounce of pride or rudeness. Recently when the other girls have been slacking on washing dishes with us, there she is scrubbing away at the nastiest pots and pans without one complaint...just that smile that brings peace. And yesterday, after much compost and dirt was dug up, she found a nastier toy that was caked in dung and neglect; therefore, she took her hands and the toy to the well where she scrubbed away the muck with a toothbrush and gave the toy new life. She pays attention to the small things all day long, and makes it her purpose to comfort and encourage. I love this child. We're bringing her home too. Not to mention that she was the girl who got one of the top 3 awards at school for her exam grades. All around.

I hope to be like Sarswati when I grow up.

boxed seats

We need to begin this week's update on Monday. Unfortunately, Britta came down with a horrible 24 bug, so in odd fashion, I went alone with the kiddos to their school program. The children were already a tadbit used to me, but it didn't stop hundreds of eyes and bodies to gravitate toward me. Luckily, I had my hands held tight by my bhais and baihinis (younger brothers and sisters), and sweet Soniya acted as my bodyguard by pushing away abrasive students and jabbering back in Nepali, that "No, she doesn't want a photo of you so back on off of us"...or something like that. Suddenly, I became a part of game. As one of the 'guardians' I was ushered into a circle created by the hundreds of giggling children made up of 20 women. The gist was that each woman tied a balloon to her ponytail and, by using only your left hand, you tried to pop all the other balloons before yours was defeated. My extreme height advantage was disqualified because of my lack of ponytail. And so with my balloon stuck to the back of my tee shirt I came in 4th place. One woman got a busted nose, and the winner started splitting wood, trekking the jungles, and building homes since she was born...and didn't start giving birth much long after that...she is a bit more hardcore than I. The seven hour program was mostly boring after that except for when Sarswati, our precious 7 year old, got one of the 3 top exam awards for the whole school!!

Britta went to the ER that day. A checkup and 4 different medicines cost a wopping $4. Seriously. And so with antibiotics and much sleep, we departed for the National Park one day and two semi-healthy women later. Our friend, Guru, in Kathmandu had made arrangements for us at the Unique Wild Resort (which was both unique and wild, I must add) with a stunning 3 day schedule that included in order: Sunset by the river, Cultural 'Program', Canoe ride, Elephant Breeding Center visit, Elephant Jungle Safari, Birdwatching, and Elephant Bathing. This, along with 2 nights stay, 3 meals of non-daal bhat, and as much dud & kalaochia (milk & black tea) as our hearts desired was the half the price of a one-night stay at any average American hotel. Basically, we got Nepali rate because we look Nepali now...we're pretty much unrecognizable.

We absolutely loved the 3 different guides from our hotel, Jaug, Lax, and Mahendra. As we first entered the national park, Jaug pointed out some fresh rhino dung. We stared at it and anxiously asked what we should do if we saw a rhino on foot. He told us that we should run very fast and climb a tree. And to our 2nd, more anxious question he answered, "Oh yes, they are known to be one of the most aggressive animals toward humans because of how many people they kill here every year...I tell you this not to scare you [he saw the fear] but to tell you truth." Grizzly bears don't even scare me as much as rhinos did at that moment. In fact, the unexpected fear factor was a common theme throughout our stay. We had a leaking canoe in man-eating, crocodile waters, our elephant busted out in a cantor half into our safari, and we were almost certain that we were going to fall off of our bathing elephant with him on top of us.

The sunset was breathtaking except for our sweet Chinese friends who kept petting and taking pictures with the stray dogs (I'm pretty sure that this is the equivalent of allowing yourself to be covered with pidgeons in Venice...you just don't do it). Our cultural program was filled with native dances and song, including an emcee who said in between all 6 programs, "Nameste, good evening and welcome back, all my viewers." With a smiling face that we were convinced was altered by alcohol or the local marijuana leaf he pronounced 'Continuously' 'Cantonese-ly'...he made us happy.

The following day we fed baby elephants crackers. Their tusks slithered around our necks as we played hide and seek with the treats. It felt like the python I allowed around my neck in elementary school. They were so adorable and we were told that we could take one home. We told Mahendra that they wouldn't get through customs and he laughed. He liked these tall Nepali women. And then it happened. While trying to reformat the remaining space on my camera's memory card to allow more space, without warning it 're-formatted' all of my photos...meaning that it deleted them...all 250. Since my computer hasn't worked since my first week at the orphan home, I lost the past month's worth of photos. There was a photo-shaped hole in my universe for about 24 hours. But Britta has taken fabulous shots, I got the jungle safari and bathing moments...and for the hour that I was at the orphan home this afternoon, I took at least 30 pictures of the kids. It still was wretched in the moment.

But a few hours later I was sitting on top of an elephant looking at crocodile, peacocks, monkeys, and a mama rhino with her 5 week old baby. That will pretty much put anyone in a better mood!! Besides breaking out in full speed at one point, it was fabulously awkward and unfamiliar to sit atop such an enormous beast of an animal...and Britta and I were convinced that the baby rhino was actually a robotic dinosaur from Jurassic Park. After the elephant dropped us off in town, we enjoyed a quiet dinner at our resort. Lax, the youngest guide, stopped by to check in with our day. We ended up talking about being raised in the park as a child (2 of his best friends were killed by the wildlife--one tiger, one rhino), were amazed at his fluent English, and enjoyed comparing annoying guest stories from our different hotel experiences in National Parks on other sides of the world (Evidently, Indian guests carry a bad stereotype of being high-maintenance...open-aired jeeps get to much dust in the hair).

Our last morning we watched a couple male peacocks literally 'shake their tailfeathers' to get the attention of the surrounding ladies...one took a little more time than the other...ladies just sometimes aren't impressed even with the fanciest of tailfeathers. Shortly after our birdwatching, Britta and I made our way down to the riverside to watch the elephants bathing. We were invited to join in the bath, and cautiously stepped all over his dry, dusty skin to ride this elephant bareback. We were sure we would fall, but eventually got the rhythym of his shoulders under our thighs and held onto each other for dear life (Eventually I'll figure out a way to put these photos up, because we laughed or screamed the entire time...and they're hilarious). With such a roller coaster ride's worth of adrenaline, I can't help but look on that experience as the highlight from our little adventure.

We left with an eagerness to see our kiddos. We were like proud parents talking about them our entire time away, and they greeted us with hugs and kisses (and a couple angry moods that said 'Don't ever leave us again' that sooner than later turned into giggles and held hands). 5 weeks in and only 3 weeks remain of our time at Harka. We don't like to think about it, really...we just keep on participating in the imaginitative world of fire, rockets, moons, treasures, and tickles that turn to breathless laughter.

gettin' crowded

Last Wednesday afternoon as Britta and I settled into our routine, several people came by the orphan home. This isn't entirely uncommon considering the fact that neighbors come by to chat, check out the goings on, and stare at us rather regularly; however, come night time this young mother with her infant boy and a toddler girl were still hanging out. It wasn't until Laxmi came by with her frantic personality to explain that the young mother's husband had recently died of liver cancer and the toddler girl was just orphaned by both parents' death. Soooo we just added 3 new members to the crew.

Considering the fact that Laxmi knows little English, we have slowly put puzzle pieces together with certain childrens' circumstances. It pretty much goes that the 'government police' calls either Laxmi or Prim to see if there is any room for the stranded souls. Granted the situation and the nature of the orphan home, it is so difficult to refuse sanctuary when Nepal is such a poor country with no government financial support. And so it is that a healthy 22 of us live in this 3 bedroom home ranging from a 15-month-old baby to a 27-year-old house dad.

To say that things are getting cramped is an understatement. I can't imagine what this young mother (who looks as if she could be 18 or 25 year old) has been through and the absolute thankfulness she harbors for food and a roof and smiling, embracing faces, but her dang baby cries all the time and she can really only help out with things when he is taking his nap. Did I mention that he eats more than any other child I've met...there is no shame in breast-feeding this big boy every 45 minutes or so.

That brings me to an interesting bit of irony we have come across in our time at Harka. The children who have the parents are by far the neediest and most annoying. There are several perspectives worth factoring in after such a comment. For one, to move into a home of 15 children just 1 1/2 years ago, can only make an already clinging 5-year-old Samjana and an undisciplined, lazy 7-year-old Ishwor, all the more desperate for their biological parents' attention and affection. The problem there is that neither Kumari, 23-year-old half-pint, cook, regular stomper of baisi dung-->compost whose loud voice immodulation screams into the face of an already crying Tulie to go to the bathroom and equally shouts 'Welcome' whenever we give her a 'Thank you', and her husband, Prim, a 27-year-old clean freak, whose middle-of-the-night random yellings have made Britta and I diagnose him with 'Sleeper Turrets' and who not only busts out in random Nepali song but also enjoys being the patriarch, neither give that much attention OR affection...to their own children, or any children, for that matter.

So these two children have an interesting environment where they are not made to do any chores like every other child (including 3-year-old Ashish who waddles back and forth from well to squatter making it shine), get extra treats like biscuits and fruit, sleep-in until food's ready, and get a bed the size Britta and I share to themselves (when our 4 preteen girls are sharing one). Needless to say, there is a lack of discipline, resulting in us calling Samjana bratface too frequently..she just smiles, laughs, and goes on to annoy someone else. It is hard to love this child. And then I remind myself of the fact that this girl who naturally is craving everyone's attention can't even get any from her own mother who in one day gained too many competing siblings, and the Lord grants me compassion. Ishwor, who is good in English for his age, curious about music (probably because his father listens and sings it too loud all the time), and tends to get along with the other children well, is just plain lazy...and I have a hard time handling laziness.

And so, with this latest addition of crying baby in the wee hours of the morning, it has caused us to seek a tad bit more refuge or places of silence (but those don't exactly exist with toddlers watching your every move to place a head on your side or make you watch them clasp their hands in the air...as if they're catching pockets of wind). In other words, Britta and I are looking forward to our little getaway. We leave Tuesday morning and return Thursday afternoon. We're hoping for a bit better connection to hopefully post more pictures and tell you of the adventures on the back of an elephant.

But I couldn't sign off before letting you know of a precious invitation the kiddos have given me and Britta. Not only have the children insisted that we come to their school program (to our knowledge, it's a field day/dance program/awards day that only parents are invited to) for the past week which takes place the majority of the day tomorrow, but they have also officially stopped calling us 'Miss', and started getting our attention with 'Didi' which stands for big sister. The first time I heard Sirjana say it to Britta and the following night have Soniya tell me, 'You no Miss, you Didi,' with her big grin lighted by an intimate fire, it was as if sunshine entered every pore of my body. What warmth, pure love, divine acceptance...what a glorious reward.

party of five

Baby goats and catfish were just getting us warmed up for what was to come. Britta turned 24 this past Saturday in a way she could have never imagined. She writes in far more detail on her own blog, but let's just say that clothed with full Nepali sari, hot pink lipstick, and bindi, she listened to 15 children try to sing "Happy Birthday", blew out candles to a cake that spelled her name 'Reecha' and we had to dance an uncomfortable amount of time in front of the children, our houseparents, Laxmi, and her two friends (who are now our two friends), Promise & Julie. Besides such an eventful celebration, we were invited to a family dinner 'party', witnessed a death (don't be too alarmed), were followed home by 35 school children whose backpacks boasted of Korea and the US Army (the children happened to be obsessed with WWF wrestling as well...a theme we are coming across here in Nepal), concocted a rather tasty fried banana pie, have become health care professionals by de-licing heads and treating bedsores, and have discovered that the rice patties are not only good for meditation and brief silence, but can also be transformed into a field day.

First things first...may our next door neighbors' parrot rest in peace. As Britta and I were making the pie Saturday afternoon we heard the children making more noise than usual. We look out the window only to see the annoying bird who jabbered off in Nepali all day constantly reciting his youngest master's name, Angila, come to his demise in the jaws of a mangy mutt who had already gotten one of our chickens earlier that week. I think Britta and I were more upset about it than any of the kids, including Angila.

Business has been a little different with our little ones as well. I should make it known that we finally have come to a consensus on the twins' names. Green shy sweet crybaby twin is officially Jamuna, and little blue devil is Gonga. That was definitely a minor victory. And now their heads are shaved and gentle Jamuna looks more like a baby Sinead O'Connor and Gonga who had a Dudley Moore haircut before now looks like Gonzo...she's hairy and wears blue all the time so that encourages the nickname. Let me back up..the first week we were here we were told that we needed to treat a few sores that Ashish and Tulie had on the back of their heads. While doing so we naturally looked at the twins to see if they had anything similar. Oh my goodness. Jamuna was covered with them and for who knows how long. Needless to say, we forced Laxmi to pay attention and for the past week and a half we have wiped boiling water to clean the wounds and then lathered her up with medicine. While doing so one day Britta and I made the pleasant discovery of lice. This is not surprising considering that every girl here has short short hair because every 6 months or so the lice becomes unbearable and heads are shaved. And so 2 days ago we cut the twins and Ashish's head to a bald roughness. Much puss and dozens of lice later, we had kids who were relatively scratch free. After taking Jamuna to the doctor yesterday with Laxmi for two tumor-like bumps on her head, we are now regularly dispensing medication for what is evidently just an infection. Who knew that an Art major looking into Environmental Studies and an English major looking into Peace Studies would be dressing so many wounds?? (we're still convinced that we were not made for health care)

Along with Sinead and Gonzo, Ashish is sporting his new due with ever-convincing charm. Britta already went into detail of our man who has several blue ribbons for his award-winning pot belly, cackles like an old man, waddles his no behind and pantless tiny legs back and forth from well to squatter to do his daily cleaning, said 'Intuhnet?' when we left them this morning, wears a tee shirt with 'The Rock' decorating his basketball of a stomach, never ever leaves a piece of rice to waste, and when he peeks his head into our door with flaring nostrils and those enormous curious eyes, he is the reincarnation of Jack Nicholson from 'The Shining.' Our four stay at homers have been covered, but today is Secil's day who completes this party of five.

Britta and I have no favorites here at the orphan home and make that clearly known to the few who constantly ask...but Secil is one of our favorites. The 4 year old loner who wears his pants low enough to constantly reveal an inch and a half of his bum crack, has a secret smile that makes you melt, will sneak underneath our legs in efforts to lift us on his shoulders (at which point I always exclaim, 'Hercules, Hercules!'), and when you least expect it will kiss you on your cheek with the sweetest puckered lips. I think it's safe to say that I have fallen for this kid. He has become my go to school partner where he'll swing from my hands, we'll run on the elevated rice patty divider like a thick tight rope, jump obstacles in which he'll occasionally fall and muddy up his enormous khaki pants, and for these kids where everyone's trash is their treasure, he'll pick up the cover of a calculator, a small alue (potato), piece of rope, rubber band, and place it in his back pocket for future delight. For those of you who know Johnathan Davis (mostly just the fam), he looks like a miniature Johnathan without the dreads.

Laxmi explained to us the other day that both of Secil's parents died of AIDS, but with a checkout every 3 months, Secil has miraculously remained negative. From the Gorka Region in Northwest Nepal has come this child who by all accounts should not be healthy, into an orphan home where he is already learning English, is surprisingly a great photographer, and eats rice to his little hearts content. All these things are why I am drawn to this young stud, but perhaps one reason that I realized not too long ago was that he is the closest age to what Hajari (the young infant I fell in love with at Mother's Choice in Hong Kong four years ago) would be today. Hajari will be 4 on April 27 and looked nothing like a full-blooded Chinese boy. For a long time we were convinced he had Indian in him or something to make his so magnificently adorable (don't worry, I think all Chinese babies are pretty darn flawless), but his papers showed that both parents were, in fact, Chinese. Likewise, Secil looks anywhere from Native American, Halfrican American (that's for Nate), or maybe Caucasion/Nepali, but no, his parents also surprisingly were both fulltime Nepali. I imagine what Hajari is doing every now and again when I'm playing with Secil (something I haven't done so consistently in many years), and it makes me sad to know that I will never know him as a young boy or a preteen, but these past 3 weeks with Secil have shown me that that love I had for Hajari will never die...it will be in my prayers for him as he slowly grows into this world, it will be in the love I have for this similar boy in a land not to far from his own, and one day it will radiate from the love I have for my own children.

I wish every single one of you could come spend the night with us here just so you could say goodnight to our five kiddos in their one bed...fist pounds and kisses don't get much better than this.

One week from today Britta and I will be taking a mini-vacation to Chitwan National Park (only 30 minutes away) for 3 days and 2 nights filled with a safari, elephant breeding center, bird watching, and showers. And we just found out the other day that there are only 2 of the older children who have yet to go on a safari...Secil and Budi. So in a couple more weeks we're going to make another day trip for that fun!

I hope all is well, and if you celebrate the Lenten season, I pray that the Lord will open your hearts for a time of repentance and an awareness of his love not only for you but for all his children.

Peace.

the birth of sweatsuits

The Twins...aka...the Rosemees...aka Green & Blue


The day Britta & I carried 100 lb Rice bags in the streets of Naranghat


The kiddos having more fun with the rice than we did...


ABC flashcards! [from L: Blue, Radika (in pink), Buddee (red), Secil]


This past Saturday, January 26th, Britta and I walked to town right when we woke up, to buy some much-needed biscuits (tasty crackers) and check our e-mail. Upon our arrival back it seemed that the entire village had congregated inside the confines of our orphan home to witness a) two baby goats being born and b) the farming of the catfish farm. Big day. Especially when cooking meals, cleaning clothes, going to school, wwf wrestling, and cutting vegetables is about the most excitement this village life tends to get in one day. Now there were 6 adult Nepali men netting enormous catfish and our babies helping the goat babies try and stand up or nurse from their mother. Both the fishfarm and the goats are two great examples of the orphan home's sustainability: selling fish and goats for food. Excitement filled the air as sells were made and a new mother became protective, and at least for a couple moments, Britta and I weren't the objects of everyone's gaze.

This has proven to be the hardest part of our time in the village thus far. We are absolutely loving the kids...even the one we have called bratface..to her face (because she deserves it of course (: )...love the spicy food (oh the tolerance I'm creating), have gotten used to the pig's smell, and that of our own, have grown to love the lice-invested oldman stocking hat that sits atop the toddlers' heads like the Hogwart Sorting Hat as it swallows them whole, can't help but joining in on the kids' efforts to run the chickens (kukaras) out of the garden and back in their home, and have made our own personal touch by teaching the younger kids how to fist pound (they already knew high fives, so we thought we would bring a different American greeting to their attention); however, we have yet to get completely used to all the stares and laughs.

So we just focus on all the other things that we have grown wonderfully accustomed to and the ways the children have held our hands and surprised us with cuddles. We are hoping that the longer we stay the less freakish and other-worldly we will become, and we are convinced that the good night kisses the younger 5 give us when we tuck them all into their one bed will be more than enough to counter the former even if it continues.

As for those 5 kiddos we so adore, I will briefly touch on two of them here: our twins, Rosemee and Rosemah. But there is a problem. You see, ever since we got our minds around all the names of the children, we were told that one of the girls was Rosemee and one was Rosemah (nicknames: Gonga & Jamuna), but all the children kept on getting them mixed up and the girls themselves respond to all four names. By no means are they identical, so we were quite perplexed by such a dilemma. Nevertheless, we still don't know which child is which. And so, unfortunately, Britta and I refer to them as Blue and Green because, again unfortunately, the sweatsuits that you see in the first picture are the only pieces of warm clothing for either child. Neglected? Perhaps...I have definitely thought so at times; however, it's difficult to bring my Western view of every child's right to have 10 different outfits to a village in Nepal where one outfit is all that's really needed, and next winter (their winters are not long) they will be handed down another sweatsuit...better be green and blue.

For the sake of clarity, this blog will refer to them as Green and Blue, and as our confusion hopefully melts away, I will give them their more worthy name titles. I haven't been around too many sets of twins to be anywhere close to an expert, but it's been interesting to watch these two girls and their utterly contrasting qualities. Green is the sweeter, more emotional, sensitive sister with the softest features and kindest smile (when she's not crying), and Blue has these eyelashes that I would swear were fake if she wasn't a 3 year old orphan and crazy devilish hairy eyebrows that replicate her extroverted, attention-seeking, bully nature. As I mentioned before, these girls are definitely more overlooked than the majority of children, but Green far more so than Blue because of her natural introvertism.

Britta and I have realized in these short 2 weeks that one of our roles here is to be Green's advocate. So we defend her when the other youngsters hit her and poke fun, and we sweep her up in our giant arms when we see a tear forming. I have often thought how difficult it would be to be such a sensitive loner surrounded by 14 other siblings with two very unaffectionate parent figures. She seems lost by nature, and now by circumstance she is nonexistent to some. We have cleaved to Green much more so than her devilish punk of a sister (even though she can be pretty darn adorable most of the time) for this very reason. We hold her hand and sit with her alone in the fort to hear her ramble on in Nepali. Get that girl alone and she's a talking fool. What an interesting social and psychological study these two girls would be in such a unique situation.

Britta has already mentioned a little about the absolute lovable Tulie and will finish updating about Ashish soon!

I should take this time to thank all of you who have so willingly offered to send packages for the kids; however, Britta and I have decided that it would be wisest for us to wait until we arrived back to the States to send things so that we will have the best idea of their needs. And one of the greatest difficulties is waste. There is no trash can or dumpster here in the village, so all trash literally goes on the ground to be swept away by wind or rain or eaten by the toddlers (: We will take as much of our individual trash back with us to Kathmandu, but to send several packages might prove to be more wasteful than desired. Again, thank you for the sentiments!

And speaking of big days...the baby goats celebrated their day of birth this past Saturday and we will be throwing a 'party' for Britta's 24th birthday this Saturday! The kids are beyond excited, and we hope to concoct a tasty cake..who knows what may turn out. So if you know Britta or just want to send her warm wishes send her an e-mail: schroeternater@gmail.com

Much love to all,
Becca.

meditating in the midst of wild things

Since Sunday morning, 11 of the 15 children (I misreported that statistic in a previous blog)...left for school. Since then, life here at the orphan home has offered somewhat of a consistent routine, but the nature of working with children means that nothing is really ever consistent or routine. But for the sake of taking you through the big picture of our days here...well, then here's a painting:

Britta and I have woken up every morning behind the children..we hear there waking voices and sometimes gentle meditations, then summon ourselves out of bed as well. Occasionally we join the children in yoga, but mostly we help get things ready for morning black tea (kalaichia) and daal bhat. The water is boiled on a gas stove fueled by bull dung (fascinating) and the rice and vegetables are cooked in our outdoor firepit. Since both meals take a couple hours to prepare, in the mean time we help with the children's English and math homework, and make sure Secil (the youngest school-goer) is dressed and ready to go. After the rice is hurried down our systems, we grab two hands and walk the kids to school (around 40 minutes roundtrip). 5 boys (Secil, Ishor, Mannish, Buddee, and Ramesh) and 6 girls (Samhaia, Radicka, Sima, Suneya, Sarswati, and Siryana...yes, so many S names) are school age...Ishor and Samhaia are Kumari and Primo's (orphan home mother and father) biological children (the reason for my statistic being off earlier). There are 4 rooms to the building: a large room with four beds for 13 children (the 5 smallest sleep on one), Kumari's family room with the TV that only shows WWF wrestling and Nepali sitcom/soap operas, our small volunteer room, and the kitchen.

Through neighbors' backyards, past many curious eyes, and across rice fields for short cuts (if we are running late), and then we say goodbye with high fives and smiles. On our way home we always pass the same bull that just stares and chews his cud...he always reminds me of a laughing Falcor (the Luck Dragon) from 'Neverending Story.' Our four stay-at-home toddlers (Tulie, 18 months, Rosemah and Rosemee, the 3 year old girl twins, and 3 year old Ashish) usually spot us from afar, and yell out a welcoming, "Mith, Mith" ('Miss' with a lisp).

During the late morning, early afternoon, we read stories to the kiddos including Dr. Seuss favorites and 'Where the Wild Things Are' (we actually had a wild ruckus with Max this very morning...they loved it!), play with countless balls, blow bubbles, practice our numbers and ABCs, and there is always that time of the day when the 4 of them invite us into their fort and whisper the secrets of the universe into our ears (of course all in Nepali which they're still convinced we know). Every other day or so we walk to the town to try and check e-mail and write these stories, but most days, like today, we arrive only to find out that electricity won't be on for another 2 hours (because electricity, or bijuli, is only on an average of 6 hours a day...and it's never consistent (: )...so we wait, walk around, buy peanuts from the smiling Peanut Man that stain our hands a rusty red, eat biscuits (cookie/crackers), and wait. We walk back to another ecstatic greeting from our 4 kids, take a break to read a novel, make afternoon kalaichia, and help Mother Kumari feed the bull (baisii) and look at the pregnant goat (backra...the kids love that this sounds like my name).

Around 4pm the school kids come back, and we immediately start up dinner daal bhat. Britta and I have been entrusted with preparing the cauliflower (cauli), potatoes (allu), and spinach (i forget the word). We will play games with the older kids, they will help us with our Nepali, and then it will get dark. Some nights we won't have electricity which makes Britta and me champs for bringing our headlamps--what an aid in washing dishes by the well. We sometimes join them for a Nepali soap opera if the electricity is strong, but mostly just enjoy nightly meditation and dancing...that's right...they love when we get up and do the hippiest dance we can think of. We say goodnight, read our novels, and layer up. It has been a chilly 35-40* at night which wouldn't usually be a problem, but, uh, we have no heat. Last night Britta and I took pictures of how ridiculous we looked. She had 5 layers on top, and I was completely outfitted, minus ski pants, for a day on the slopes. So we sleep soundly looking like older, taller, female versions of Randy from 'A Christmas Story.'

It has been an adjustment the past week getting used to a slower, more simple way of life. It is the nature of Americans to need an agenda, fulfill a task, and feel insecure in the midst of silence. I must admit that I have felt similar jitters of 'wasting time' and feeling 'insufficient.' But the patient way of living that Kumari, the children, and our village neighbors are teaching me is slowly settling me into a pace that is more appreciative of time spent reading a book or writing or hearing Ashish say his ABCs or watching Tulie laugh hysterically when I call her Tulie Bulie or learning how to smash tomatoes and chiles into salsa. God is good to give me such rest and time to be aware. I am beyond thankful.

Britta is hoping to make a post of our favorite, and only, baby, Tulie. My next post I hope to cover the two contrasting twins: Rosemee & Rosemaa.

I will say adieu with a quote from Annie Dillard's 'Holy the Firm' that Jon Krakauer uses in his book, 'Into the Wild'...it's the best thing I've read in a long...long time:

We sleep to time's hurdy-gurdy; we wake, if we ever wake, to the silence of God. And then, when we wake to the deep shores of time uncreated, then when the dazzling dark breaks over the far slopes of time, then it's time to toss things, like our reason, and our will; then it's time to break our necks for home.

There are no events but thoughts and the heart's hard turning, the heart's slow learning where to love and whom. The rest is merely gossip, and tales for other times.

Until next time,
Rebecca 'Maya' McNeil.

Immersion

Monkey Friends at Pushapati


Secil, age 4...we both want to take him home


One of our first days with the kiddos


Ashish...seriously, those eyes.


Our first art day

Preface #1: To say that internet is slow and fickle here in Bharatpur is a vast understatement. Therefore, we will try and post as much as possible, but unfortunately, it may be very sporatic.

Preface #2: Everyone should definitely check out Britta's blogspot
http://www.morethanmountains.blogspot.com/
because we will be writing about different children during our stay in Harka...and she'll have some different, completely adorable pictures up!!


Sunday, January 20, 2008

There is a novel somewhere hidden in the past week we've been in Nepal...at least one. It begins in our last full day in Kathmandu when we spent the morning with Guru (who served as both our K-du contact and a true man of intellect) giving us a crash course in Nepali which has come in handy at the orphan home. With our years-out-of-school minds trying to catch up with the rest of our body, Guru hurried us around a noisy, crowded, polluted Kathmandu to see three of Nepal's most visited, celebrated temples. The first was a combination of Buddhism & Hinduism which I found quite fascinating along with the fact that some believe that Buddha himself was a reincarnated Hindu god. The next temple was strictly Buddhist where prayer flags served as both decoration and a religious offering--a spritual discipline, and where we had the surprising opportunity to observe Buddhist monks begin their afternoon ceremony. But none of these things compared to the shock and honor we received when we went to the Pashupati Hindu temple. It is one of the four holy places for Hindus (2 in India, 2 in Nepal). It was there as we walked along the sacred river that we witnessed a funeral pyre. It is considered a great honor for Hindus that when they die, they are brought to Pashupati and their ashes are then swept into the river. I didn't feel worthy...or prepared to be in the presence of such an event, but then 3 small children playing chase in and out of the somber crowd gave me a more balanced sense of life and death. There is no doubt that all of my senses were alive that day: the touch of the prayer wheels as they turned beneath my fingers, the smell of smoke as a body returned to its scared dwelling awaiting it believed reincarnation, the sound of transportation demanding their authority with horns of all rhythms, the sight of vibrant colors that hung off beautiful dark skin and hair, and the taste of Nepali tea..you just have to come and taste it yourself to understand.



I have come to the realization that to be a part of a global family, the community of humanity, one must become an observer--working always to make every sense alive to the pain, smiles, landscape, moments of absolute peace, and brokenness in a culture and people. What better view can one have than sitting next to the bus driver literally on top of the engine. I'm a strong believer in public transportation--there is no other place that one can get a more honest picture of a society than on public transportation. And so it turned out that the only 2 seats available on the bus to Chitwan weren't actually seats, but spots next to the windshield and stick shift. As if we didn't stand out enough already, our long-legged selves made a scene in the 99.9% Nepali passenger bus. Their sweet smiles and quiet laughter was fitting for the day that took us to Harka Sustainable Orphan Home, and one can do far worse than having to stare at a beautiful group of Nepali people from one view and mountains, rivers, bridges, and waterfalls from another. After several hours of my back gnarling from such conditions, an Australian 7 year old girl and her mother (the only other non-natives) offered one of their seats for my relief. Bronte, named after the sister authors without the A accent, spoke with what sounded more like a Cockney British accent than one from Down Under. She had traveled the world with her mother and her knowledge of different cultures was a just reflection. For example, as I was writing in her "Friends Around the World" notebook, I told her that I was from Memphis, TN. I asked her if she knew who Elvis was and she answered, "Why yes, he died on a toilet" (Mentally say this in a Cockney accent). Bronte just warmed me up for the eccentric and hilarious children I was within hours of meeting...



The bus dropped us off right outside of Bharatpur, where we were to meet the orphan home mother, Laxmi. As our last bag fell from the top of the bus, a small, loud, excited Nepali woman came to embrace us and immediately shove us with all our luggage onto a rickshaw (a tricycle carriage common to Asian cultures)...(if you're having a hard time picturing 2 women averaging 6'0" together with all their luggage stuffed a small rickshaw...don't worry, it was difficult for us to understand as well...and harder to balance!). The strongest Asian man I've ever met rode us 1/2 mile down a bumpy gravel road before Laxmi caught up with her purple motor bike to take Britta the rest of the way on the back seat. After the strongest Asian man alive was about to pass out from exhaustion, I jumped off to walk the rest of the way getting a more patient view of the small Harka village and our new neighbors. Suddenly, several smaller bodies with booming "Namastes" came to hold my hands and usher me inside. Laxmi hurried us (something that has become quite commonplace) to sit down and before we knew it we had introduced ourselves to all 13 children... "Tapie ko nam k ho?" "Mira nam Becca ho." "Timmilie berda kusilayo." (Nice to meet you). But don't be fooled, Britta and I were not the fluent Nepali speakers we are today...we were 0 for 13 getting the 'nice to meet you' phrase down. And it has been pretty much like that since: baptism by fire. Such immersion has made us feel like we've already been here for weeks. Everything from learning how to make black tea in the morning, helping cook dal baht (rice, soup & veggies...which is the only 2 meals everyday), sitting in on 7am yoga, washing dishes by the well, wiping snotty noses and cleaning scabbing wounds, perfecting the squatter toilet, and teaching English only by learning Nepali has come together as the ultimate education. 9 of the 13 kids go to school everyday, but this entire week has been a holiday...so that means we had 13 taps on our windows when we stepped in for a rest and 13 eager personalities studying our every move. We took the opportunity the other day to pass out 1/2 of the gifts we brought including soccer balls, toy cars, balloons, jewels, colored pencils, and a top. And 1/2 of those toys are already broken (: I don't think Britta or I could have ever imagined how much volleyball we could possibly play with a couple soccer balls or how obsessed children would be of balloons. Ashish, the 3 year old charmer whose eyes have more charisma than any other lady's man, never misses a chance to tug at our pants and whisper, "come...ball." He smiles and we follow.



A few fun facts in our first couple days at Harka include: there may not be hot water, sinks, showers, or toilet paper, but there is occasional electricity and a small tv...and the kids' favorite channel is none other than WWF wrestling (Pete, tell Cedric it made me think of him (: ). Also, there really is nothing cuter than watching a 1 year old do her OM meditations at night.



As I was holding that 1 year old, Tulie (Siryana), this morning I was thinking about love. I was thinking how it surpasses any definition or expectation...that is exists in gathering those who have been forgotten by society and/or circumstance in one's arms and showing them worth through tickles and kisses and cuddles. But in that moment, I saw more clearly that love is more palpable in the way these children who exist off of laughter, hide & seek, and rice, so freely usher the likes of me into their family. Who am I to deserve such inclusion, such union? Ah, and the paradox of grace continues to unravel its unexpected nature.



And so Britta and I will be here for the next two months except for an escape to the National Park for a safari weekend. We're scheduling that 1/2 through our stay to secure our sanity and bathe. More stories to come.



Much love to all,
Rebecca (Maya..my Nepali name the children just gave me).