Chief Guest in Nepal

There were several moments that brought me to tears. Tears of joy and gratitude and love. The first was near the beginning. I had been to the home of Sita Tharu already, the 16-year-old Room to Read girl scholar whose home was humble, but clean. Where she lived with her brother and younger sister, but not with her mother who had died of stomach cancer, and not often with her father who worked for most of the year in India to support them.

We had flown half way around the world in a big plane, flown in a small plane to western Nepal, driven 1.5 hours north (passing through Bardiya National Park), driven to the small city of Kramala, off the paved road, and up the dirt road a few minutes. That is where the school was. But more importantly, that is where the kids were.

We stopped the car just outside of the gate, I got out, and that is when I saw all of them waiting. Not just a few students, not just a few dozen, not even just a hundred students. Sita was there, but she was just one scholar of almost Nine Hundred students who were there waiting, waiting to receive me. Waiting along-side the road to their school, with their school uniforms of light blue-green shirt and darker blue skirt or pants on. I was excited to begin to walk down this road. First, two came up with a lei of hand-picked flowers. The next gave me a single flower, which I received in my hand. I smiled back the biggest smile I could give them, and said Namaste. Left and right, more and more beautiful faces, continual exchanges of Namaste and smiles between us and flower upon hand-picked flower were given. They were young and older, from kindergarten through ninth grade. Moving slowly, my hands were soon filled up with flowers and I received a hint to hold the bottom of my shirt up like a makeshift basket, surrounded by my arms to receive more flowers. I tried to look into the eyes of each and every one of them. What seemed like forever, but was a few minutes into this slow procession and exchanges of light between our souls, this was the first time (of many) in which I felt tears of happiness. Truly the light in me greets the light in you.

This magic continued through hours of singing and dancing and music and speeches (by the school heads, Room to Read representatives, and a short one by me as well!) and dancing and ribbon cutting and more dancing. I even had a pinned-on broach labeled “Chief Guest.”

I have tears in my eyes now, remembering it all, which was now almost one month ago. This is what life is all about.

Quick update from Nepal

Had an amazing time at my Room to Read school in Bardiya Nepal (southwestern): imagine being welcomed by over 900 students, waiting in line with flowers that were hand-picked and sometimes sewn into leis, greeted by infinite smiles and Namastes, then a reception with kids singing, multiple different traditional dances performed by the kids, speeches with hope, and tokens of love given. The school building itself was also very well done, complete with a Reading Room library that was literally our shelter from the storm: a dust storm blew in just the minute the ceremony had ended and we took refuge in the library, shoes off, sitting on the comfortable cushions at the low desks looking through all of the books and learning about the library.

Now, I am sitting with Ralph in Pokhara, Nepal after a trek around most of the Annapurna circuit. My favorite part was the pass day (Thorung La): a good steady trail to over 17.5k ft, beautiful views of the surrounding high mountains, a late lunch with yummy veg noodle soup, and finishing the day in lush Muktinath, visiting a few Buddhist temples and being calmed by the flowing waters. 

More to come later!

The Plan...

It has been three years since I was on my way to Kathmandu, but in some ways it feels like yesterday. Telling your body that it is 'wrong', and that it is really the morning and not the middle of the night is always met with some resistance; I think I am about half way there to being adjusted. I am sitting in the Bangkok airport, remembering the very first time I came through Bangkok in 2003, in a different airport and searching around the airport for a place to sleep through the night before we found an open hotel transfer room. Now, the airport is a new one, bright and shiny, with even a place to take a shower to boot, which helps a little with the jet lag.

 

So... what is the plan? The plan is to be in Nepal for two weeks and China for one. I am meeting my boyfriend Ralph in Kathmandu in a few hours, he having already been in eastern Nepal for a week photographing the cutest red pandas with the Red Panda Network (a grantee of Green Grants back in Boulder). 

 

In Nepal, the first priority and first thing on the list is to head to southwestern Nepal to visit the new school that I and many donors (over 185 to be specific) helped build with Room to Read. We fly to Nepaljung (a city) in Bheri (the state), and Room to Read has set up a great visit that includes visiting the school, students, and teachers, and visiting the home of one of the Room to Read girl scholars. There is even supposed to be a welcoming ceremony at the school!

 

Next, we head to the Annapurna circuit in middle-northern Nepal. This will be a beautiful trek covering around 130 miles (or so, depending on side trips or decisions along the way), going through some of the deepest gorges on earth, seeing some of the biggest peaks on earth, covering multiple ethnicities across many villages, exploring monasteries and getting some good air all the way up to the pass which is over 17,000 feet.

 

The final leg of our journey will head to the Yunnan province of China, spending a little time among the rice terraces and ethinic villages and tea plantations of Xishuangbanna, exploring the town and some work of water quality advocates in Lijiang, then making our way back to Kunming (I'm hoping to see the Bus Rapid Transit there, as it was something I worked on a little for work).

 

Since I'm not supposed to have my tea next to the internet computer, I think I'll go have a sip. Till next time.

 

Val

 

Kindling the fire in your heart

What are those things in your life that when you think about give you the shivers? The really good kind that make you know we are connected in this world, the kind that make love pour out of your heart?

Like when Lisa who had been running with the kids in the running club (the kids in flip flops) goes back to New York with the idea to use her connections at Nike to see about getting running shoes for a whole lot of them, maybe pursuing a commercial to help convince them.

Like when Marc, squatting on the ground taking in a ‘heated’ discussion, calmly interjects a directional comment that “each and every volunteer here is giving 100%. One hundred percent.” Of their time, thoughts, and effort.

Like when my boyfriend Ralph says he decided to raise and match money to build a school in Haiti, sitting in the dry sun at Cafe Sole one afternoon and then working side by side with him seven weeks later at the site in Leogane, under the hot humid sun, next to fields of sugarcane on one side and locals building their homes on the other.

Like when Chris at a meeting takes a routine ‘task’ of returning an empty glass coke bottle to its correct owner to the higher level of how that one bottle really influences the livelihood of the Haitian business owner, influences his family.


Like when Marc takes ‘rubbling’ to its higher level - what in one sense is simply collapsing and crushing concrete and moving a pile of rocks from one place to another, in another sense is a critical step to rebuilding the life of a family - the first stage in allowing them to move out of a 10 foot by 10 foot tent in an IDP camp back to the site of their home, to set up a transitional shelter as they rebuild their house, their home. The literal translation of Haiti, or Ayiti, is home, mother of the earth, or homeland. With the removal of the unwanted, homes can be rebuilt, Haiti can be rebuilt.

It is the same sun that lights our way - whether dry in Boulder, hot and humid in Leogane city, or great Eastern from the top of Everest. The fire in our hearts that is kindled with these thoughts and sayings and actions for others, this internal fire is a gentle nudge for our brains to connect the thoughts that we are one body, under one sun. Vraiment.

Where is the suffering in your life? Who do you know who is suffering? And how can you help them, bring the light inside of them out, and lift the spirit of all?

Unexpected treasure

It was dark, for the moon had not risen. Our lone tent was on the shore, next to the pile of conch shells, under the big tree, nearby a long wooden fishing boat. The sand was made of many tiny rocks, smooth underfoot. The air was a touch cooler than its usual sticky hot, but here it was especially comfortable because it was the tiniest bit less humid. The stars were bright.

The water was as still and warm and smooth as in a bath tub. Walking out into the water slowly, then we saw a little bitty green light in the water and walked slowly toward it, getting deeper. A short, glowing phosphorescent line of brightness. A shine of the headlamp revealed crystal clear water to the ocean floor, and a two-inch long small fish at the top.

Moving a little deeper revealed a beautiful thing of nature. One spark, was that a spark? Two, ten, ... fifty! Moving our hands through the water let loose bursts of tiny lights, going away as quickly as they came, but lasting just long enough so that your hand would leave a slight trail of lights in its path. Like the path of a tiny comet. Light coming alive just for an instant to bring joy and mystery, and disappearing as quickly as it came. Dancing under water in circles, I left a stream of bubbles and light. It was our beautiful and unexpected treasure.

Haiti: the right blocks

There are so many things you take for granted. Even the most simple things you can think of. Having a flat street to walk on or drive on. Having water at the tap for your cooking or washing or flushing. Having electricity at the tip of your fingers, ready to light your room or run your stove or maybe even charge your phone. Having a clean space in which to live. Having air that is clean and free of disease-spreading mosquitoes. Having a roof above your had that will not fall down. And these are all good things. Not excessive.

Think of a place with none of these things (at least none that are reliable or wide-spread).

Now imaging driving down a street in this place in our city, in your worn, hand-me-down four wheel drive, slowing down now for the speed bump, now for the traffic jam, now for the small crack in the road, now for the pile of trash on the street, now for the pile of rubble on the street, now for the larger crack from the earth. What had started out as a scene of poverty (whose root causes are many including financial burdens from historical colonial powers, dictators, a history of coups, limited island resources with poor environmental management, and misguided intervening influences of external countries), this scene of poverty has taken an additional dive into the suffering seen from a natural disaster. An earthquake that shook all things. A ‘goudou’, one who took over two hundred thousand lives from this earth. The crack in the earth makes you look up, look to the right and left at the buildings. Concrete, almost fully. One standing, the next cracked and tilted, one pancaked with floor lying upon floor unevenly, one a pile of rubble. The next wall may have spray paint with ‘Adieu’ to a lost loved one.

In the midst of this destruction and poverty, there are many beautiful smiles, open hearts, and hopeful friends that you will meet.

As you head toward the small sliver of flat ocean that you can see in the not-too-far distance when standing on the staircase that goes nowhere, you walk across the field. Then a little girl comes up and takes your hand to walk with you. Later you learn that she is 11 years old and that her name is Victoria, and she tries to teach you a little Creole (kabrit, goat) as you converse a little in French. Her younger friend comes up and takes your other hand, and together they help you navigate through the field, by the stream, to the shade of the trees, and along the curved path to the shortest distance to the ocean, the mer. They are living in the IDP (Internally Displaced Persons) tent camp nearby. Alas, you do not make it to the sea this time, maybe next time.

In the little town of Ganthier (gan-thee-yay), a few hours east of Port-au-Prince, there is a small blue house with a red gate to create a good space, an open courtyard out front for playing, a space out back for the goats and pigs and chickens, and a great home inside for ten beautiful kids: five boys, five girls, all without parents, but all loved and raised by a lovely woman named Dada with the help of her sister and others. Dada is almost always busy, but always has time. She will offer you her bed to sleep in, and make you an unexpected pancake breakfast with eggs. As she serves breakfast to the kids, she will be singing, and she will keep singing when cooking or cleaning. If you ask, she will teach you her song, her prayer. Se pou gro roeh yo roule, se pou gro roeh yo roule, se pou gro roeh yo roule, aswa a. If there are big rocks in front of you, may they move away, tonight. Se pou malade yo geli, se pou malade yo geli, se pou malade yo geli, aswa a. If you have sickness, may it go away tonight. Se pou probleme yo resoul, se pou probleme yo resoul, se pou probleme yo resoul, kunye a. If you have problems, may they be resolved right now. You can remember this song, and sing it throughout your time, teach it to others, and bring it home with you, saved to memory in your heart. Sing it with the girls; they will like to hear you speaking Creole and will work more on their English with you. Mesi Dada, and thank you Larry.

As you take your turn with your partner, swinging the ten pound sledgehammer, counting out loud in Creole (which luckily is the same as counting in French), you start to think more about the story behind who lived at this house. It has a pretty big footprint, half of which is pancaked to the ground, the other side waiting for demolition. Was this the house where the woman escaped and only lost her toes? No, that was the one from yesterday. The hot sun is beating down and you’ve been working for five straight days. Then a bunch of folks round the corner: it is the whole of the Wenke family men coming to help sledge away, come to help in the rubbling process! They step up, and start swinging away, putting more force into each blow than you were, turning the concrete slab into tiny pieces, even when sometimes supported underneath. And they don’t want to give up their ‘turn,’ but rather keep on working. We talk some, learn that Wenke is actually the given name of the head of the family, and not the surname, as we had thought. After a time, and some good progress, the group heads off on their original journey, headed to work. And we return to ours at hand, with Hands On.

As you sit in the very back row of the packed church, trying to avoid the sun coming in the back window, but too close to the fan above to feel any of the artificial wind, dressed in your finest of your travel clothes, you will see the large choir file in and set up themselves at the front. A few minutes later they will erupt in song, and you will smile to hear it. Their voices are powerful, and about fifty strong. They do not need accompanying music, they stand on their own. They carry love in their voices. Joyeux mèveye.

At one time it had been an empty field. Then it had become a school, built up of river rocks and concrete and tin. It was a place where one hundred and fifty little kids would come to learn, happy for the privilege to be there. Then there came a day in January, at first no different than the last, but then like no other. The place had seen its own share of tragedy. The walls were no longer there, the rubble was cleared away. And in its place a temporary UNICEF tent had been erected so that school could continue in the spring. Now it is summer, and it is time to build a more permanent school before the fall comes. The Director of the school will be there everyday. As will the Second Director. Ready to help. Ready to swing the sledgehammer taking down the remnant concrete walls and posts, or move the wheel barrel full of rubbled concrete from the house next door to help form the base of the new foundation of the school (later to be filled with concrete to form a platform). Ready to work side by side with you, telling you their story in a mixture of English, French, and Creole. The kids will be nearby, also ready to pitch in where they can, helping to move parts of the UNICEF tent to the street to be later taken to its new location. Ready to save the intact blocks from the wall that just came down. Ready and eager to learn in the new, slightly bigger than originally-designed school, come September (if the build goes according to its new schedule).
Even the two little shy girls, hiding behind their mothers when you try to take their picture or video, even they are ready for school. Ready to change the statistic that only half of the population is literate, ready to change that statistic one person at a time.

This is Haiti, and these are Haitians. Our brothers and sisters in this one world we share. We are blessed to live where we do, to have been born where we were. We are all blessed to be in this world. And we are blessed to know one another.

Getting down to the base of things, removing one layer after another after another, this is a hard thing to do. It is hard to peel away what is not useful, hard to get rid of what is harming you (or could). But there is a wonderful opportunity there. Then you can rebuild using the right blocks.

Reference frames

S for Sudan. Now how often is it that you hear that one? Sure, S for Smith or Sunshine, or Sally, but certainly not for Sudan. Some of you might remember S for Shishapangma or Summit from past adventures of mine. Nor to you hear R for Rwanda very often either. Do we say M for Mexico, or C for Canada? B for Brazil, or is it rather B for Boy? Where do our thoughts lie? Is it for our surroundings, for the world around us, for those who may be Suffering? Or is it rather for those things that are in front of us every day. B for brother. A brother who is learning how to live, how to survive, how to not get dragged down by his thoughts or the world. Is it B for Brazil, for those suffering in Rio whose fragile homes have been destroyed by the rain, by the mud. P for Poland as they suffer their loss. Just a few thoughts for today. In a few weeks I get to head over to TKU, for Tanzania, Kenya, and Uganda.