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).