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.