28_My way back to the village: from peace to trouble to home

After 5 hours of sitting in the 4x4 jeep on the most uncomfortable seats squeezed between my things, people, a random stool and a wheel I saw my known rock (a landmark) and all my tiredness went away. I was ready to jump out from the vehicle. We are approaching MY VILLAGE!

But before that…. There was a long journey.

It has started 1,5 years ago when I dared to begin my PhD research about Far Eastern rural Nepal. It continued with my stay in 2 villages for 4-5 months (in total I was in Nepal for 7 months). Six months later I came back to return to my villages.

Even though I speak a bit of Nepali language it is not nearly as good as it should be and therefore I am going now with my assistant Anima who will help with translation and research.

I Getting peace at Bouddhanath

In general Nepal makes me super-mobile once I get out from the Tribhuvan airport. I have changed so many houses, hotels, districts and even rooms of hotels. Also this time I have decided to experience different are of Kathmandu-around Bouddhanath (previously I lived around Thamel and in different parts of Patan). Bouddhanath is the complex of Buddhist monasteries with the central stupa, which is believed to be the most important place for Buddhists in Nepal. It is located quite far from the city, but I was stubborn in my wish. And I never regretted that.

This place is truly magic, where it seems that modernity, 21^st century, money obsession and time compression has never came. Especially during Dashain period (when all Nepali are going home to villages to get blessing from elders of the family; and thus city feels empty). My hotel window faced the monastery with purely white doves. Every morning before 6 a.m. monks started chanting and this chanting mood would not stop during the day. Everywhere I went it seemed that people are only concerned about their own spirituality than anything else and therefore in shops and restaurants people always had malas in their hands and did not bother about me as a customer. No bargaining or offers for me to buy things I do not need, so typical for other parts of Kathmandu. Most of the women were wearing their traditional dresses and whenever I went outside my hotel I entered a stream of monks and others walking around stupa in clockwise direction. I could spend hours observing that. The air was full of religiously spirituality or “Love-Peace-Happiness” as Buddhists usually say. In fact, despite that so many things did not work, I could not be upset for a long time, it was simply impossible there. That was Kathmandu I did not know before. I experienced only loud, polluted, crazy place where I was afraid to be a pedestrian and a bicycle rider, because of the unorganized dangerous traffic, out of which my head was ready to blow out. Here it was peace.

Here just like in Himalayas I became different, Nepali version of me: easy going, friendly, opened, making friends and feelings lives of everyone I meet.

II A long and troublesome journey

I thought I got this peace forever, but I was mistaken, peace did not belong to me, it belonged to the place. Thus, when I packed my all belonging and ordered a taxi to the domestic airport I already could not accept the taxi driver to be 30 minutes late before my flight (when the journey itself is maximum 20 minutes). That’s good that I calculated time well in advance!

We landed in Jhapa, which resembled at that time Africa-so hot! In general our journey was supposed to be long: from Jhapa to Ilam, where we thought to stay for a day, later to go directly to Falaichha or to have two buses in one day, as I used to do before. But this time absolutely nothing worked after I reached Ilam.

Usually I adore Ilam. It is a small peaceful city in hills with smiling people and huge plantations of tea bushes. There is this special atmosphere of people plucking tea leaves and people having long walks on paths in tea gardens. There are very few places in Nepal, which would fulfil so well a function of social gathering and relaxation for all generations and backgrounds.

This time all went wrong. Already on the way together with Anima we could barely survive famous 12 turns before the city and our stomachs were ready to explode. Once we approached Ilam we could not find a sleeping place for a long time due to festivals and those available were worse of each other. Finally I made my wrong decision towards a hotel with giggling teenage boys and a dirty bathroom. I thought I can cope with everything: mice in hotels and houses do not bother me if I secure my food, I sweep of cockroaches from tables and take out hairs, stones, hash and insects from food easily. To spiders I even do not give any attention at all.

But this!!!

When I opened my bathroom kit in the evening in the bathroom I saw that awful creature moving its longs nose around. That was the first time I screamed seeing something usually people are afraid of. But this thing was sooo huge! I ran out from the bathroom scared to see it again. Luckily I had a strong insecticide spray and I attacked all those creatures in the bathroom not caring that I poison myself for a night sleep as well. That made them run, which was even worse.

That night I could sleep only with mosquito net over my face, and yes, I slept in my sleeping bag in the hotel. Also because they did not have bed sheets and I did not believe that they washed duvets more than once in 6 months.

Getting a ticket to our further destination was also an enormous task. Since elections for Constituent Assembly are approaching and that is a very decisive moment in development of Nepal, everyone was very excited about that. That also meant that they did not want to bother about doing their jobs and selling tickets. Thus we were redirected from one place to another and at last we needed to walk for 2 km up the hill to find out that the ticket counter guys just wanted to get rid of us.

!!!

But at last we got a ticket at least to Phidim for the next day (which is located 3 hours distance). Our jeep was at 5-6 o’clock (the time is always given like this, meaning you need to be there at 5, but they might move are 7 or 8. Or 5. Depends on the mood). In the evening I made sure that in my hotel they knew that I have an early time for bus and they open the door for me on time.

They didn’t.

At 5 a.m. sharp I was screaming and hitting my metal door, which was locked straight at the beginning of stairs leading to rooms. Not even hotel entrance door, people were locked on their floors. I waited for 45 minutes. Within this time I was screaming, I was running to balconies shouting at walking people for help, and above all-I was hitting metal door with all my strength for many minutes. No reaction. In fact, you can get a heart attack in your hotel between 10 and 6 and you will be isolated from help.

In this period Anima was sitting on the stone close to my hotel door. For one hour in cold.

Of course, we missed our bus.

Eeeeeeh, with the second transport we managed to reach Phidim at last, but we could not move further, because due to elections people of parties booked most of the vehicles and therefore only few of them were operating. We needed to wait for one more day. And even for that next day we managed to get the worst possible seats and the only calming thought was that we are both slim and Anima is especially a very petit lady, which meant we can manage. We were still pressing each other, hitting out buts and sides on metal on the bumpy road, but I don’t want to imagine sitting next to an average man.

But then it was there-Falaichha and end of our sufferings.

III Finally

When first houses appeared on my way I could see known faces, people were happy to see me and asked to come to their houses and when we rolled out of our jeep I was back at home. I knew almost everyone and I was surprised with new shops on the road. I saw 6-month old baby, whose mother I saw pregnant on last month just when I left the village. I met people, who were previously absent, but they heard about me. I went to my favourite house and they gave us a seat, a room and food immediately. Everyone was so happy to see me and I was so happy to see them. Everyone spoke to me Nepali. Nothing comparing to my first visit to this village, where all the important people gathered around me with suspicion asking why did I come. I was a circus animal for them and every move of mine was scrutinised and re-talked.

Now I was at home. Home among deep forests, golden crops, hills and fresh air possible only if you are at the place of mountains and no vehicles.

Breathing deeply and getting excited to go further and to see others J

27_To be where you are_preparing for the second fieldwork

Yes, I continue my blog. It is just a week left before I return to Nepal to do my second field work as a human geographer. But again this blog has nothing to do with science. However, it has a lot to do with ups and downs, failures and discoveries.

Rain. This autumn was exceptionally good for usually quiet disgustingly humid, rainy and windy Scandinavian fall. Every day has been sunny, getting colder and colder, but still has been marked by low clouds playing with different colours and tones, and by soft sunlight, which always makes faces beautiful and landscapes so warm and soft, just like grandmothers hands. Although I miss the golden autumn of Latvia. I never knew how unique and special it was. The sound of yellow, orange and red leaves under your feet.

It is raining after so many days of beautiful Danish weather. I am rushing home cycling without lights despite the darkness and screwing up my eyes to avoid the big rain drops.

And I start laughing. I suddenly feel the rain drops so vividly, each of them going through clothes and reaching my skin. Falling on the ground. It’s almost surrealistic. How much I enjoy my rush home, all the people here and there, people talking despite the rain, and coming Danish darkness and cozy winter. I enjoy it up to the point it hurts. I want to fall on the ground, to hold my breath and just be here. Right here and right now.

I wrote this phrase half a year ago when I was in the middle of my fieldwork, going up the mountain and looking down to houses of my village which already looked so small. They resembled the view I usually see from the window of the plane moving my head impatiently for landing to finish sooner. They resembled me coming back home.

At that moment, being at almost 2000 m, I wanted to scream and cry, but instead I just turned my head and talked about the upcoming wedding of a local. In this locked status I did not want my tears to come, because I knew they will not stop. I could not continue intervieweing for that day, put the music in my ears and fall into memories of my home, but instead I chose to go deep into my sadness, to the core of it. To feel every single step I make and to let the surrounding flow into me, just like I was empty and shapeless. Just to be there.

Right here and right now.

I’m just a week before going to my field again.

So much work has left to do before that and I cannot see the end of it.

During the weekend I will probably bake apple bread. 

26_Last post and new fears

Crying baby in Doha airport and tasty lounge snacks are good reasons for not to sleep and to dig in my philosophical reflections leaving Nepal and returning to Copenhagen.

I remember typing a letter to me few months ago. I was desperate and I would try to lure in the future writing questions to myself few months after. With the tears dripping on the keyboard I asked in the mail: Have you become more confident about your research? Have you managed to fulfil your dream and to go to high Himalaya? Are you sad or happy from leaving Nepal?

Of course, my stay in Nepal was absolutely unforgettable and generally speaking-amazing. Although so many times living in the village would be like long-lasting chewing gum, it would stick to my fingers and my mind, becoming totally tasteless but still impossible to get rid of. So often I would see my days in hours counting how much time is left. To be even more honest-sometimes I would simply hate my respondents.

On the other hand now, sitting in Doha airport for next 5 night hours the thing I am afraid the most is to come back to the previous me.  Trying to comprehend this double-edge experience and paradox  I will entrust my fingers to tell the truth to my mind through typing on my trustful work computer.

I am afraid …

• to stop laughing sincerely, loudly and easily
• to lose my skills of making friends with absolutely every single human and animal body met on my way; Afraid that random people will not tell me their life stories and will not invite me in facebook.
• to dive again into world affairs, crises in environment, human rights and relations between people, nations and beliefs. It was so good to be out for half a year and to read news only 3-4 times
• people soon will not tell me that my face became so fat (it supposed to be sort of a compliment in Nepal) – even though it sounds horrible for my Western girl psyche it is still better than getting bony stressful face again
• to forget my daily rhythm of waking up at dawn to see first sun beams and to be tempted by internet, friends and work to go to sleep later than 22
• to eat again lots of sweet things
• that crazy Russians will categorize me into other foreigners who after the trek get into their lonely books unlike Russians, who prefer to talk, joke and sing
• to fall again into obligations of electricity, nice furniture and many clothes – obligations to be fast, efficient, to look frequently in the mirror and, for God sake, not to spend 2 hours just for daily lunch. I am scared to get speed and to loose essence
• to see my computer screen more than trees and mountains
• to be waken up by trash collector and not the birds
• to compromise my happiness with problems of others, my things to do and failures. To care too much
• that people will start calling me normal again

In this unfinished note I am going to freeze my blog for next 4 months (the time to be spent in Europe before I go to Nepal again), hoping that my experience will stop whirling and will slowly and gently rest in my mind.

Finally, I would like to hug all of you for being with me through my adventures, sad and happy moments. I was writing all those stories driven by only one wish-to spit out my unspoken thoughts drilling me from inside for hours regardless time of the day. Sometimes I would wake up at night unable to keep this anymore. Sharing therapy was by far the most effective remedy which would still keep me balanced. Even though my public blog has been never written for public the support messages I received from you were encouraging and warm not to feel lonely. Thank you for being with me this time!

My blog will be continued after summer, but meanwhile I do not disappear for long-the blog about 3 week long trek in high Himalayas is on the way!

25_Miraculous rescue in the forest at night

The day of resettling to another village was the time when I was physically ready to give up, to lay on the ground and to let moss grow over me. Having my personal fight with the surrounding I begged for mercy, and so we got it - the miracle.

 After couple of months it was the time to change the main village. When it came to the mean of reaching the new place we had faced several contrasting options as usually. Taking a vehicle would mean spending two full days of waiting, sitting in the uncomfortable jeep for hours, walking, waiting and driving again. And so we thought we rather walk. As usual.

This time we both agreed that we want to have a porter, because we were moving out from Phalaichha, coming back only in autumn (during the season of holidays-Dasai and Tihar) and so we needed to carry all our belongings taken for several months and seasons. Giving the heaviest part to the porter who was very much behind in time we were still carrying quiet heavy backpacks, not willing to trust a porter our valuables like computers, cameras and countless cables. 

People told us different things-some said it would take us 3 hours, the porter convinced that he would reach the destination in a slow walk within 6 hours. Unfortunately we couldn't have started moving from early morning but only after lunch. We sort of partially knew the road and we hoped to reach the new house within the same day before it gets dark.

How illusionary it was.

We started our climbing up quiet enthusiastically and all the directions “up, very steep up” we took very easily, enjoying our strength. Finally we reached the house where we stayed last time three months ago; this time refusing offer to stay there again. We wanted to go as far as we could that day.

That was already 3 hours of going just steep up and we passed the last settlement. 

In front of us was just dense forest and even steeper and steeper road, made mostly from the roots of huge trees. I’ve written already about this Forest, but I will do it again-it is alive and it is magical. Trees seemed to be there since the birth of the earth, protecting their nativeness from all the random walkers. Shapes of the trees were far from normal, some really huge trees were fallen; in some others were holes just in the bottom, and all of them reminded alive personages from the fairy tale, being ready to start speaking.  I remember how I felt in this forest last time-very hard and desperate. And that’s how I felt also few months after.

My energy was suddenly out. No houses or change in the road, just 5 hours up the bad way up. Every step was harder and harder and I needed more and more often breaks. Sunil would just always say “only another 5 minutes and we reach the top”, but there were no end of the mountain. I looked at the watch- 17:20. We have another 40 minutes before it gets dark. Forest! Help us to reach the house soon! I was whispering my prayers to those invisible ones, who were trapping us deeper and deeper in the forest.

Instead of showing us houses roads were giving us more splits and every time we were more and more scared to take a decision facing the risk of getting lost in the forest at night.

I was really exhausted. Normally in every trek it’s normal to feel tired and walk over your limits. But this time it was more than that. I really could not climb up anymore. I took a rest after every step and even a sudden sound of a passing big animal didn’t scare me. I didn’t know who it was but I asked-please, come and eat me, I cannot walk anymore.

At last we entered the small open area and took a picture of a wonderful red sunset. The moon jumped on the sky very fast and soon after we were forced to turn on the lights. That meant we lost the game, with the light we could see only a step in front of us, which meant a high risk of losing the hardly visible trail in the forest and not recognizing the house. On the other hand-did we have a chance of finding a house in this dense forest? There was still no end of this mountain and even if it was-we wouldn’t see it.

-I have a lighter and a knife. We can make a fire- I said, knowing that that would not be enough. We didn’t have any clothes with us and freezing hands signalized that we are quite high and we desperately need a shelter.

Please, I cannot walk anymore. I really really can’t anymore. My legs were falling and only my broken trekking sticks were holding my exhausted body.

-Is it a roof of a house up there? -Sunil asked.

It rather looks like a shed for kettle. Even though the “mirage” of a roof was very close up the hill, it was still up though and there was no trail leading to that. The light was not reaching to understand what it is.

Aaay! We screamed. No answer. We started to walk.

Heeeeeeyyyyy! I screamed again, using all the strength of my voice. And the answer came!

Now believing in our luck we started fast climbing up through the bushes, holding to this man’s voice as a sinking man catches anything, hoping it could keep him on the surface.

That was a got (a shed) of a lonely herder, living there with his 25 cows 1-2 hours away from any other house. For me that house was a miracle. (Actually later we found out that the next "house" would be within couple of hours of reach only in direction we were not about to take)

A "got"- a house of a lonely herder

Herders usually spend in their sheds without going home at least 6 months a year. Usually they change their settlements few times, going higher every time it is getting hotter. Some of the herder would reach up to 4000 m above the sea level. They would rarely go home to see their families, but when they are low, their family members would time to time come to help or to bring some things. 

And here it was-a simple bamboo house, having inside a fire, few utensils, buffalo skin to sleep on and many blankets. 

A house inside

A very picturesque man with long mustache immediately offered us to sit here. Tears of gratitude and relief filled my eyes. As we found out from our map and his explanation-we have reached Lahasune, which meant that within not a full day we inclined 1500 meters. Even though it was still below 3000, it is still usually not wise to go so much up. No doubts I wanted to be eaten than to climb even more!

The man was Gurung (one ethnicity of Nepal) and as it usually happens with indigenous people-they are very careful at the beginning, starting to open themselves very slowly. We sat on the clay floor, feeling the coolness of the weather. The door of this house was just another carpet of bamboo and there were so many holes that having a shed would hardly make it any warmer comparing with outside. But there was a big fire and after milking the cows the man agreed to make us food. Finally we even got a blanket to sit on and the tea.

I could observe this place closer now. It was a highest level of simplicity. The man lives almost on the top of the hill just with his cows. And he has nothing in there-apart from few things for the kitchen, one backpack and blankets there is really really nothing more. Actually nothing more was needed-having a bag with a computer and other technical things seemed so silly. Why would I need them? Why would I need them at all? The eyes of the cow standing in front were so calm and peaceful and I knew that lonely herder knows the life much better than I do with my degrees and endless ways of searching for truth and self-realization.

After the food I got my “bed” arranged - a log was covered with a blanket and that was my pillow. On the clay floor was put another blanket and that was my mattress. And then I got few more blankets to cover myself. They were stinking and I couldn’t avoid thinking that they stink of a pee. But I was so happy for that. I was also happy for sleeping so close to the fire that I could burn my hand if I stretch it. I was happy for everything.

If only that wasn’t so cold. Closing the eyes with a smile didn’t work. The sleep didn’t come and slowly the cold from the earth were entering my bones making me shaking cold. I was “controlling” the fire non-stop, putting more firewood and blowing for it not to disappear. It didn’t work. Rolling from one side to another, folding myself several time to preserve heat also didn't work.

At last I woke up Sunil and asked for one extra blanket from his “pillow”, he was kind to give me even his jacket. The tiredness would finally be stronger than anything else and I would fall asleep, waking up though every half an hour from cold, signalizing that the fire is almost gone. Just like in the very past when a woman needed to keep the fire from disappearing.

Slowly the morning was coming and its warmth made my sleep stronger, being interrupted only by seeing through half closed eyes the herder who was making a real fire and starting preparing the morning tea. The body hurt from walking and sleeping on the clay floor and from the necessity to put myself in a smallest size. I looked outside still not willing to get up. A head of a beautiful cow was looking at me, but outside was white-there was snow on the earth.

After drinking several cups of tea we asked how much money we shall give to the herder for the yesterday’s food. He didn’t want to take anything. Here it is always like that – those who don’t have anything,  they just share everything they have for free. Our rescue would never be able to be evaluated with money, but we fell like at least this is the way how to express our gratitude, especially taking into account how hard it is to get rice for him to this area.

As much as we were walking up yesterday, that much we were going down next day. Going steep down is also not easy, especially after my toe nails had started breaking apart and every touch to my small toes was causing annoying strong pain. Sometimes I was even trying to walk sideways, trying to change the pressure of shoes. At that moment I've decided to buy the best pair of trekking shoes I can find in Kathmandu.

Me going sideways in order to prevent pain of toes

Actually due to this pain I was so happy when we needed to go up again! Up, up, up... And here it was-new village. Prangbung. How will it be?

24_Into the milky way

Thunder was slowly becoming weaker and weaker and finally even large drops of heavy rain stopped. It was still very pleasant to sit next to the kitchen fire and enjoy the warmth and coziness comparing to the humidity and cold outside. I haven’t written anything and I haven’t contacted anyone for a while-in this place there was no network and in some other places also no possibility to charge a computer. Honestly, I even did not want. Being remote, being not accessible, living with the sun and damn not caring about politics, world hunger and Danish taxes gave the lightness for my days and nights.

The tiredness of a day finally told me to stand up from my cross legged position and to go to sleep. It was just 21 o’clock, but here I got used to go to bed early. In the village where western entertainment options are not available my body adapted to the rhythm of nature quite fast-waking up before 6 and going to sleep not later than 22.

That was a first thunder day and soon after it stopped the weather was refreshing and energising, it felt like the air is inviting for some action despite the darkness. Something was different and intuitively I looked up to seek for the reason of this change.

The sky.

The crystal clear night sky was as beautiful as I have never seen in my life. People say we should go to north to observe stars, but since yesterday I say-go to Himalayas. The sky was full of small and big stars and it seemed that there is not a single place without a star. The Milky Way was so prominent and huge just like the earth does not exist, just like this is the only reality to live.

I usually think that no matter where I go the sky is always the same and it somehow symbolizes the sameness of my world. Not this time. The combination of stars clearly resembled letters and I was a witness of something very sacred and intimate… religious scripts from the God? I called my friend and we both were starring up trying to put in words our feelings.

-The falling star! – we both shouted at the same time.

-Wish that you want to finish your PhD!

-Too late…-I whispered. How could I think of a wish? I was just happy that moment.

Happy without reasons, demands, wishes, thoughts of future, thought of others or myself-actually, no thoughts at all. Maybe that’s the problem that we usually try to achieve happiness? But the happiness has been always there? 

23_Into naked remoteness I

The peace slowly and softly covered the earth, gently entering every house and every heart. This peace has been here for a while, waking up just few moments after the sun, after the first rays enlighten the area. The earth is slowly becoming fresh and new just like a newborn baby, and old just like your childhood friend.

How could I explain that scientifically? How and why should I look for reasons of remoteness, castes, settlements, history, etc. etc. if the actual reason is not scientific at all?

For 11 days we were staying in two different settlements of a so-called remote ward of the village. Honestly, I was waiting for that moment for a long time, mostly because of what people were telling me about this place. They said it is very remote, very hardly accessible and very cold and children would hide their face in the sand once we approach them. Everything was “very”, becoming therefore very interesting.

I must say the talks were quite of exaggeration-we reached the first settlement in 4 hours of walk and we were surprised of high development of the place. Here I started understanding development from a different perspective than before-at one hand there are traditional signs of development which are road, health post and education. But from another hand there is people empowerment, feelings of community and informal education; and this is what we experienced here.

This place was inhabited by only few Brahmins and Chhetri, others being indigenous tribes (Limbu and Rai). Indigenous people are usually those who need time before they “open” but once you get their sympathy they become your sincere and trustful friends. Every day they make better and better food and at the end they even don’t want to charge you. Indigenous people can never become rich!-I usually say. The richness of their soul is simply much bigger than their craves for financial richness.

There was not even common Nepali shyness or suspicion in this area, not even of children.

Look at this picture – this is the man we encountered just few seconds ago, but his face already has a big kind smile.

Some people here told me that they have never talked to a foreigner like that before. In this village most of the men have been for employment in Gulf countries/Malaysia for many years and obviously they saw different people before. But sitting close next to the fire and talking with eyes, smiles and words-that was the first time.

That moment of intimacy when no borders exist and we are humans of naked souls. Just humans. The difference of pasts and presents is so huge that it hurts. Suddenly I want to bring them to my home, to give them my food and to sit on my house floor, having the same eye level. Sofas and chairs make people so distant.

I thought that sometimes the heart tends to expand and when it becomes larger than myself, I want to cry and hug and love and even to laugh quietly. But instead only a slight smile comes to the face and we just touch each other with our eyes.

A young man came through the heavy rain and slippery paths at night just to be able to talk to me again. He told me he was so happy to meet me and I thought that I wish I could keep this sincerity and truthfulness. When a person comes at night to your house just to see you.

At some points I told him I will visit them again at Dasai and Tihar (the most important religious festivals in Nepal), which made him even more excited.

“I don’t have a sister… I will give you tika during that day…Ok?”

“I would be happy for that.”

Childish happiness appeared on his face which has made me even more sentimental.

Tika given during Dasai is something very special and sacred, expressing intimacy and close relations between a group participating in this ceremony. Normally during these festivals Kathmandu is empty as all the people go to their natal homes to receive this blessing.

I entered this world so carelessly without realizing what to do with my feelings, with their feelings, with my world and their world. Now it’s too late, the damage is done-I already miss them. 

22_marriages in rural Nepal

A week ago I attended one marriage ceremony. It was a Limbu-Rai marriage and even though a groom was born here, both of them now live in Sikkim (India). That was my first holiday and I was so happy, finally I could talk without my assistant – Sikkim people speak very good English.

Immediately upon arrival I got a specially honoured place, firstly I went to the room where the bride was dressed up. A beautiful girl was deeply in love with her husband, but definitely not happy about the whole procedure. She was far from an excited girl in the white dress, waiting for that day all her life. The wedding here is rather an exhausting ceremony for a young couple and the family. Especially in their case as they needed to come from Sikkim and there was just a short part of the road so they needed to walk a lot.

It was a second time for a girl to enter that house. She didn’t know anyone; all the guests from the village and from Sikkim are from the groom’s side, no friends or relatives from her side. These people will become her family from now on, but… having a wedding without being able to share it with your closest ones… I think she was happy to talk to me, especially because we spoke English and many people would not get the sense. Would she be able to say to her new family that she is tired?

Anyway she was one of those few lucky girls marrying on the right age with a person she knew and loved. Most of the cases are not like that and I will explain them more.


(But before that-few pictures from the local wedding!)

The first place where hosts bring the guests  in Limbu wedding-to a  place where alcohol is made

A desk where people give money, food or alcohol. All the gifts are carefully written down in a special journal by "accountant".

A group of dancers is inviting a new couple to join the party

The young husband is performing traditional Limbu dance with his group

The couple is receiving a blessing 

Me dancing. All the people came to look at me :)

Young couple

---
Continuation

Being a woman I look at the perspective of a girl and so will be my description here. Sometimes it is love marriage: a boy and a girl meet few times and think they are good for each other, they are both of the appropriate caste, parents agree and everyone is happy.  After the mobile phone became a property of every young person, frequently there is another scenario-a couple meet during some festival, exchange phone numbers and start secretly calling each other, finally deciding to get married. Thinking that their parents would not agree for the marriage, a girl runs away from the house. And once she has done it, there is no way back, she is married.

Another type is arranged marriages when parents decide about the partner. Occasionally in those cases a girl has a right to agree or disagree with a man she barely manages to see once. But not always. Once I have met a girl of the age of around 22. She was studying and living temporarily with her uncle in the lowlands. In the morning a group of unknown people came and in few hours she got married with a person she has never seen in her life. In few more hours she went with him to her new house in mountains, far from her comfort and understanding. Here she needed to learn everything she has never done before-to walk up and down on the bad roads, to collect firewood and make food on the fire for the whole family. She has been falling many times becoming an object to laugh. She has learned many things, though even after 6 months she is still in the shock. Has she learned to love her husband? I don’t know.

Age for a bride varies, from 14-25 and it’s not always that those young girls are forced to get married; quite frequently they are the ones who run away. Just like modern Nepali Juliet.

The story is not yet over; sometimes a man decides to have several wives. For whatever reasons he brings another woman in the house and then the two share a husband, duties and a house, calling each other “sister”. In some cases the new wife and the old wife do not find peace and the old wife is sent somewhere, to his parents, for example. There are also worse scenarios-a man is travelling around, marrying here and there (in our world we would call it f…ing here and there), making children and at some point moving further in search of a new wife. I’ve talked to one woman here; she lives just with her son on the rented land. Just during my stay period she needed to change the house, because the owner of the previous one asked her to leave. She said her husband has around 12 wives.

...

Through walking here and there in different wards I was out from my original house for 2 weeks. After coming back I got to know that a daughter is getting married in 1 month. She is 17. She has seen her groom for few minutes once in her life but she has already his photo on her mobile. I've asked if she is happy. She has said that she is very sad.

21_Right here, right now

I am walking high up and looking down to small houses from another hill. They seem so small. Just like from the plane which is taking off. Just like from the plane going home.

Home.

I am trying to understand what is home for people living here-Hindu, Limbu, Rai, Magar… females, males, migrants, youth, homeless…  Though I do not know what is home for me. I lived in different places of 11 countries, 9 of them in last 6 years (I count only the places where I have spent at least a month). Where is my home or I am just a nomad person, creating a home where I go?

Going home.

Sometimes the flash memories give bliss-me going by bike to university in Copenhagen, entering my rented flat and not being afraid of low ceiling and poor light, going to local Arab shop and cooking something tasty. Above all-rolling in the bed getting this pleasure from touching clean smooth bed sheets by my clean body.

So many times I try to imagine how it would be-to go out from the plane in the place which has never been my home. Denmark has always remained a cold, windy country and not only weather wise. And yet though I come there over and over in my mind. Must be because after many years that was the place which I could call-my place.

The beauty of mountains and fresh forest air are so bitter now, I want to spit it out and breathe again my first day excitement.  I am seeking for the answer and solution. It comes by itself – Right here, right now. I still do not get what is it that my inner voice says, but I know that is the key.

I am convinced there will be so many days when I will want to come back to this amazing experience of walking in remote Nepali village, but now I just want to go home. Right here, right now.

Perception of time has always fascinated me, especially when something falls from my hands. It just feels like I want to press Ctrl+Z and get it undone. And now I want to be in the place where I will miss the place I am now.

Everyone here is married apart from two people I’ve met. I say I am married too, and it feels so wrong-to lie and not to be married. It is so easy here, to get married. In the north we spend years to get to know each other, to understand if our characters fit and so on and so forth. Most of us “try” several times, dating several people before they find the “right one” or before the right time comes. Here the marriage is the necessity for survival; without a partner, without children you cannot sustain livelihood, the life here is simply not made in that way.

And in our world we want to find someone who will make us laugh and smile, who will have similar interests, who will be reliable and handsome… So many conditions.

It feels so wrong to be unmarried. Again I am trying to jump with my mind to the time when I would be a married woman. Maybe I never will. All those time combinations.

Right here, right now.

I am learning mindfulness. Breathe in-4 steps, breathe out-6 steps. I breathe in the answers of respondents, I breathe in the mountains, the tea and me sweating and going up. I breathe out and smile to my body, to my chair, to the staring people.

I am right here and right now. I bound my mind to this and learn uni-tasking, uni-thinking, uni-being. 

20_Clash of identities, clash of worlds

I went out from the kitchen and there was this song of Louis Armstrong-what a wonderful world played in the poor quality radio. Out of the sudden I was different – having a nice dress, makeup and high heels, smiling and feeling the flirt in the air. It would be the same sky with the same stars, so romantic and so big, it would feel I want to breathe in the whole world in my lungs. I would be feminine and beautiful, enjoying every second of this young time given to me.

And here was I – having the same clothes for long and seeing myself only once a day from the broken dirty small mirror, having all days and nights the same cheap fleece hat, eating loudly sucking my fingers in local style, not shaving my legs and wearing big mountain boots for weeks.

A big ball stacked somewhere in my chest, getting a dose of tears and rolling up getting ready to outburst on the outer part. Why did I get to know another world before? Why have I come to know this world? Now I am somewhere in between, with lost identity, unable to live in any of those places anymore.

I have made a rule for myself-not to watch any of those movies I have spent so much time to download prior going to the village. Once I did that mistake, feeling that I have deserved it after a long and tiring day. The movie was crap, but I couldn't stop it, I watched for a big western city and clothes, apartments, parties, bathrooms, restaurants, sofas and street lights. Everything I got tired from, but everything I spent all my life in. I sat in my sleeping bag, feeling so drunk and dizzy. My mind could not process all that information I have seen and everything I am in now. Those wooden walls, holes instead of windows and newspapers instead of wallpapers-is this all just a dream or I am trapped? Will I be ever able to go back? Where is this place-to go back? And is that place real? In this clash of worlds I felt so confused, not even sure if I am sad, rather sick. That night I was empowered enough to break through all the obstacles and go to the toilet at night, I did not know though if I could make it, my head was spinning around.

My typical room

“Are you real?” I asked the buffalo on my way. The animal continued eating looking at me with its big smart eyes. That buffalo is so tired of non-stop eating and living on a short lease. It can only stand or lay, and maybe a step around the pole. And I am free-born in freedom and having my wings to fly despite whatever financial, social or personal constraints are there. Noone has ever managed to tie me. Or maybe I should let to be attached, to be tied and to have my place? To stop this war of the worlds…

ritualistic fire during "puja" (worship)

I will not watch movies here anymore.

19_Then and now - village life and local shamans

Then and now – different overlapping times in village life.

I wrote so much already about the place and I think this is the last time to describe it more properly. My very eastern place very recently did not have electricity or roads and schools (road was built only 2 years ago). Those, who did not work in agriculture, carried goods from Sikkim, walking for 2-3 days across the mountains with heavy loads. Some other woman would make a trip on small trails through mountains for 4 days from Phidim (the closest town) having a baby or two attached in front and the necessary items for household behind. A rare person in the age 35+ have finished more than 5 classes, those a bit older say that there were no teachers around. I’ve talked to people of different ages, those older from the closest ward (bazaar) and those younger migrants (in their early 20ties) from the furthest and highest ward – both of those age group share similar past of exhausting work and lack of shoes and jackets on the snow. Those people did not have electricity, biscuits, they would depend on weather and not warm clothes.

Recently I talked to a boy of 21 who moved from higher mountains here 5 years ago. He needed to leave the school after 5^th class and go to work for 5 years, being a herder in higher and colder altitudes. In that region the food is hard, it’s too cold to plant rice, so they eat corn, which is “easy to grow, hard to eat”. After these 5 years he moved here, which is another ward (same village, just another administrative region) and went to school again, although unsuccessfully, because he forgot most of the things. But in school he found a beautiful girl and got married (here love marriages are rare; mostly they are arranged by parents). In fact, this thin boy of youngish appearance is my favourite interviewee; I can talk to him for hours admiring his intellect. He couldn’t pass 10^th class exams, but personally I would give him master’s degree straight away. By no doubts he is the smartest person I’ve met in this village – he makes objective conclusions, easily goes from details to abstraction, and draws parallels and linkages between different phenomena. I usually say – if I talk to him for 5 days, I can finish my PhD just by writing everything he said. This man of strong physical and moral core, straight opinion and no fear to express it clearly (like absolutely all the others) is only 21 and only few classes of education.

a caravan of "chauri" (a crossed cow and yak) led by young boys; going to the settlement, where the rice cannot be grown

In this central village people now have the road and the life is so much easier. Even though doctors are still located only in Phidim (within 4-5 hours of drive), this place is reachable now.  Goods are no more carried from Sikkim and daily vehicles basically bring everything. This local “taxi” (a jeep which is filled with twice more people than its capacity) still operates 1-2 times a day and is the only transport apart from 1-2 motorbikes I’ve noticed around. There are also few shops where I could buy biscuits, noodles, few clothes and soaps.

Beginning of a ritual

Local shamans

Health doctor functions are performed by shamans (called “chakri”), who use drums to go in the transcendental status and ask spirits to help. There is quite a heavy overpopulation of healers who got that special power through shivers. According to my calculations (I have scientific approach to everything!) there is one chakri to 3 households. Depending from ethnicity and religion those chakri have slightly different methods. In this village people can roughly be divided into 2 categories-Hindu and Matawali (mongoloig race, indigenous people). Originally (though not always in practice) Hindu do not drink alcohol. Matawalis, also called drinkers, drink local alcohol almost daily. This drinking culture is inherited also in chakri practices; therefore all those healing procedures and worshiping of gods are done after a great dose of tumba (local alcohol).

Ritual change of clothes of a central guru

Imitation of a shaman

Few days ago I went to chakri event of Limbu (one Matawali ethnicity), organized every 5 or 7 years. On that special day chakris are worshipping their guru (teacher) and have some ritual performances. My excitement went down during the evening quite fast. Chakris most of the time would enjoy their time by drinking and talking to friends (spectators), at some points chanting, making shivers showing their power and beating plates to fight with bad spirits and to make a border for demons not to enter this place. The whole procedure would be accompanied by few very drunk spectators, who would jump after chakris making jokes and imitating healers for the fun and laugh of all the other people. After many hours I was already so tired of doing nothing and getting the same questions which became already so boring to answer (Why are you here, where are you from etc.). Then the rooster was sacrificed by few other drunken people, having in general so much fun. Finally, after 5 hours of waiting the culmination of the evening came and chakris performed a wild dance around the place of worshipping, beating plates even faster and stronger; at the end letting a young chakri to climb up the stairs and to show his shivers. For a while the wild dance together with few men far from being sober continued. Later another healer went inside the house, where he jumped around the middle and sang the future of this house. He was singing in Limbu language, so it was hard to get someone to translate; but finally we got the main idea of his prediction – the eldest daughter and eldest son of this house would not make any harm to this house. One daughter has problems in her stomach and at some points her heart will hurt and she will say “ayay”.  Very interesting prediction, I must say, especially taking into account that every young girl in this village has gastritis.

Preparing a rooster for sacrifice

It was the night when I went to sleep very late. Normally I go to sleep here at 9-10, at that day it was 12-30, too late for villagers like me.

The rhythms are intensifying

Spirits came to this young shaman and so he experiences shivers on this specially made ladder

18_Throughout bad days

Actually this post is one of those when everything is bad. In fact, now it is much better, I moved to another house closer to my current place of research, here are two small wonderful girls, who are entertaining me quite actively and, most importantly-I’m not bitten anymore. So it is much better now, but since this post was written, I post it anyway.

…

And so suddenly I felt like I cannot cope with that anymore.

I got used to eating with a hand, sitting and eating on the floor, squatting toilets far away from the house, walking long distances and changing heat and cold. I could get adapted to so many things, but there would be this “but”.

I started to hate my dependency on the family, being unable to decide when and if I can get warm water, when I can go to toilet, when I can wash myself in the middle of the yard all the neighbours being around. In this village a bathroom is a rare thing and mostly women are bathing in the long towel, having clothes under it so that no one can see anything. Since back at home I actually bath naked in the shower, it has been a real challenge for me to manage with all these towel/clothe thing. I still do not understand how to wash having so many wet clothes which are slipping down all the time. Luckily, several times I managed to sneak into neighbour’s bathroom, where I could get my privacy. Other days I would ask my family to warm some water on the fire for me, getting so many questions-“You want to wash yourself again?!!! You did that two days ago!” and sometimes waiting and freezing outside, being cold and wet, unable to put dry clothes, because slow neighbours would buy the chicken and would be quite curious to look at me.

And then those roads. In this very dry season the roads become so dry and they literally crush into pieces under the feet, and of course, such a clumsy person as me would fall immediately. I feel ashamed to fall and to walk so slowly when locals wear slippers and carry tens of heavy loads and can jump going down. Probably they think I am so weak and unskilled. But actually they are amazed how much and how fast I am walking. I guess they did not think white people can cope with those mountain roads at all…

But my patience was over not even because of those tensions from going up and down. I got totally desperate due to the smallest reason possible. The size is even tiniest than you think-I speak about fleas. For couple of days I have been persecuted by those blood suckers through day and night.  My body was swollen and 99% of my thinking was devoted to this itching pain. I washed my clothes and sleeping bag linen every morning and every evening, destroying my hands in the frozen water (it becomes lukewarm only during the day, when I am busy) and hoping to kill the fleas. It didn’t work. I rubbed the smelly neem oil (which is the main ingredient for flea repellent for pets), but apparently the Himalayan fleas are very resistant. I hated my sensitivity to those bites, but I felt helpless and I was forced to take anti-allergy pills, which could help me not to lose my mind. Even the insecticide poisoned me but not them.

My new flatmates-totally charming and smart two girls

Probably due to all this I had nightmares every night. In evenings I would usually have intention to wake up earlier either for yoga either for work. It never worked out, because I would be so exhausted seeing so much violence in my dreams. Finally, it became worse when I saw betrayal of a close person in my dream. I cried the whole night and first half of the day, being unable to get over this feeling, even though I knew it was unreal. Luckily that morning together with an assistant we took a decision to move closer to our current destination, so that we don’t need to spend 2 hours a day just to reach the place. In this house I got a physical peace (did not know it exists)-even though I sleep in the room with 4 other people, my body feels settled, maybe also because this time we did not get separated into different houses with my assistant and I have less pressure. I don’t know, but that was the night when I was free from fleas and even in the beginning of a nightmare I told to myself – this time there will be no violence in my dream. And there wasn’t.

17_Getting closer to the good and bad things in the village

Today i celebrate my 10 days anniversary in Far East Nepal.

I have talked to so many people already, and will talk even more. As for now, I covered 2 central wards of the village (the village is divided in 9 wards and to reach the last one takes 6 hours of walk for locals). By employing the strategy of seeing an interviewee for at least 2 times I manage to build contacts, get lots of village snacks (some roots, some super sour small fruits, some roasted beans), to see people running from their houses when they hear that I am nearby. Is it the same village where people would stare at me and turn their heads after the eye contact? All of them tell me “bichaaraaaa” (poor you), because of my poor language schools, all of them would have those sad eyes when I turn my back to leave their house. They are so happy and they tell me thank you just because I’ve travelled so long and I came to see them.

I am still not tired of this peace and lack of everything the city gives-opportunities, shops, different people and noise, noise, noise. Cannot stop admiring the natural beauty of stunning mountains, forests and rivers.  I just wish I could get fruits here, and sometimes decide by myself what I want to eat. For couple of days I’ve been eating easy version of daal bhat-rice with potatoes. Maybe due to this lack of protein or general tiredness we both were hardly walking up today.

Yes, I am walking up-down all days, with long breaks for interviews though. I cannot decide-whether I shall ask university to pay me more for this physically hard task or it is me who should pay them for giving an opportunity of daily gym in this beautiful surrounding?

Young children at school

And then I am getting so angry by seeing the educational system and how the potential of young people is killed in schools. I know, I should be happy for seeing schools in a place, where most of the people in their 40-ties have never attended the school, because in their time this place was too remote. I know, I should be happy, but… students from 12^th class have almost all the books in English (even accounting or marketing, for example), but they are unable to say even very primitive sentences in English (!!!). Small children are deadly scared when I play the simple educational game with them, simply because school for them is blind repeating. I’ve been thinking of making some classes with children or workshops with youth, but then-probably I should just shut my westerner inside and not go against the whole army of teachers with my methods. Teachers here are gods and they jealously protect their territory. Even though I believe I could make changes in a small group of youth if I work with them constantly-others would not accept them anymore. So maybe it is just me who needs to accept this educational culture, so wrong according to me.

Lesson at school:typically outside, at this season it is too cold to sit inside

I totally love my company of two wonderful girls (of their 19 and 18) and our understanding each other. But I feel so sorry seeing them as wives in their near future. Recently one woman told me that I am at the age when the life of the woman ends, because she is getting married.  Another time I was looking at the photos and commented that the brides always look so sad at their wedding pictures. The answer was-for most of the girls this is the saddest day. I closed the tears inside me remembering my friends getting married, being so beautiful, so happy, dreaming about this day since their childhood. Here many brides are crying. I am still to get just a bit closer to the life of a woman, probably I will never get close enough. Comparing to other villages I get the impression of mostly a healthy family environment in houses. Then where is this pain coming from?

Sometimes it feels like I’ve been here all the time and the world outside does not exist. Sometimes I am getting so tired starving for the comforts I am used to-bathroom, easy walking, fruits. I have never been so happy from receiving letters from outside. Then I plan what to do when I come back. But mostly I want to stay here longer than I can.

How will be my 30 day anniversary?

16. Involving and being involved_breaking in the village

suspicious locals during focus group interview

I was scared several times just since I came. First of all, my host said a story of foreigners coming to implement a project here, but no one among locals did trust them so no one wanted to talk to them. If not my host, who actually risked and helped the foreigners, the village would not get several developmental projects. Another story was from my interviewee, who said "When foreigners come and ask people cannot speak. They know, but they don't say. Even if they know they still say "I don't know."

How can I make my interviewees speak if I even do not know the language and sit quiet like an ameba most of the time?

How can I make this research interesting for them? Last time I did several short interviews and they seemed to be far less from OK. I worked for few years in the journalist group, also for my studies I conducted so many interviews with very different people in different languages-and trust me, I really know how to make them. I thought I could “open” everyone simply because during the talk I become so fascinated by this person, almost like falling in love. Obviously, this encouraged another person a lot and the conversation rose very successfully, often going over time limits. However, now I fail. I hate myself for not being able to talk without the translator and without feeling them, like I always do. Only once, hearing a case of a mother crying for her son to disappear somewhere abroad, my sadness did not know its borders and the woman felt it. She didn’t want to talk to us at the beginning, but once she started she could see my feelings getting so close to hers, supporting and crying, just like I would quietly hold the hand of my best friend at her worst moments of life. At that moment the translator was not needed any more, when he was translating my words, the woman just said-I know, I can feel that.

Apart from that their words remain just words and never come close to my mind and soul. By writing their answers I can easily mix the people in my mind, feeling betraying their life stories.

How can I talk to them and let them talk to me? Shall I just rely on time? Even if I manage to build trust, confidence and friendship, this place is so scarce, that I would need to repeat the same long process of building trust many many times.

Today I came to talk to young people in the school. I talked twice and the first talk was a total disaster. The group of young boys would sit and don’t make any sound, trying to avoid an eye contact, trying not to look at me and mostly having their eyes down. It felt like I am here to punish them and they are just sitting at the principal’s office, making the impression that they acknowledge their fault. The second talk was easier, we arranged sitting on the ground, being more equal and more informal. I started with a small introduction game and explained myself with more jokes. When I finished and said to ask questions, there was a deep silence. This time I’ve decided not to let it be like that, so I divided them in 4 groups and asked to discuss with the 2 other people questions. It actually worked, slowly questions started to come. Girls shyer and not willing to say anything, but later they were interested in me more than in what I am doing. Fair enough, I just wanted them to be active. They sort of expressed their willingness to help, but we also have agreed that we meet tomorrow and two people will arrange everyone to come at the same hour.

Now I am sitting waiting for the next meeting to present myself and wondering-where am I getting involved?! Willing to do the research I am actually taking the role of a youth worker, trying to teach those kids not to be quiet, to discuss, to share, to change their thinking and behaving habits. Who am I to do that? Do I have rights to do that, to intervene in this community, living its own rhythm and doing it quiet well? Why would I need to introduce western standards of youth empowerment? Noone asked me here to come and no one said they need what I am doing here. Shall I step out before it is too late? What if that is too hard and will take all my time without any success?

Actually this photo was taken on the last focus group interview with young people... The beginning was not that easy at all