The Size of the World

INDIA!

danielle_bergman — Sun, 27 Jul 2008 08:37:00 GMT

I figured, why try to make an interesting title for this story, when simply saying India should bring enough excitement to all!

Although Ive realized an intense and deep love for Nepal, both the people and the land, the colors are already brighter across the border. Starting our trip in Kushinagar, a few hours from the drab border town of Gorakpur, and the death place of Buddha. This is a good transition point from the homely more Buddhist Nepal into the largely Hindu and Muslim India. After waking up at 6am Thursday only to find out theres Banda (strike) and no buses leaving, Krishna, our Nepali uncle, came to meet us at Naya Bus park to help us find an alternative. He found us sitting on our bags listening to Tom explain her painting of her future. She showed us the four windows, of what she brought to Nepal, what shes taking, her fears for the future, and her hopes. Her fears were a big puddle of people floating about with no direction. Krishna went about the bus park like one of these people, trying to find us a driver, but they were all too scared of getting attacked by angry students and having their tires slashed and burned. In a dazed stupor, we got into taxis back to the house we all just said goodbye to, to the chowk (street) we braced ourselves not to see again, and to the golden buddhapark glaring in the sun. We happened to get into a cab with a driver who started to argue with us over the price, and then out of nowhere said "Israeli manpardaina..." (I dont like Israelis) "kinabahna ma lai Muslim" (Because I am Muslim). This was the first time any of us encountered this intereraction in Nepal, and it didnt come at a good time. We all started saying how many Muslim friends we have, until we realized the conversation wont go anywhere. The most amazing thing though, was when he asked why we came all the way to Nepal to help when there are so many people and problems in our own country that need help. Theres a line weve all been saying in the group and discussing all the time, from Hebrew text, that says " The poor people of your country come first". Never did I think I'd hear that line from a Nepali, where theyre all corners of the world to try to get a better life.

We came back to the house unsure of when we might leave, with little faith in the random driver who offered to call us taht evening. BJ, who we work with for Children for a Green New Nepal, surprised us by coming to the house ofr a meeting, and was equally surprised to see us all there. We went to the chowk to eat and listened to Bob Marley blare from the TV, wondering the everlasting question of how he got so popular the you can hear his words from every nook and cranny in Nepal. BJ and I finally made a plan to ride the bikes to Patan, the area he lives in, and make something more of this bizarre feeling of suspended travel, when Krishna called and told us we had a bus that would come to the cowk in 10 minutes. Now it was a question for all of us if we wanted to risk the travel, or risk the chance of not getting out of the country for a week and missing our train. After some going back and forth, we opted for the first and loaded our bags again. The whole neighborhood looked at this group of crazy white people walking back and forth, probably laughing at us because they knew there was a strike and we couldnt get out, as we bid our namstes once again. As 20 minutes of sitting on the curb went by, i began to lose faith, as BJ sat next to me chiding me on to just go get the bike already. At last, at around 530 pm, almost 12 hours after we were supposed to leave, a huge hunk of a bus came rolling up the hill. There wasnt enough leg room, even for the Nepalis, and there were iron bars poking into my back, but we were moving and getting out of the suspension, and that was enough for us. The driver navigated his way around burnt tires and stopped more time than he would normally, at 430 in the morning we arrived safely at the border. At some point in the night, as i lay dozing between sleep and the moving reality of mud roads at night during monsoon season, my sheet flew out the open windown. I woke just intime to grap the edge corner of it, but couldnt hold on against the pressure of the wind, and felt it fly away into the dark. It was a sheet Ive had for a long time, the type whos softness and light colors bring a deep sense of comfort, and even though a few nights before the mosquito coils had burned a hold straight thrw, i decided to take it with me anyway. I felt a moment of sadness, a literal emptiness in my lap, and the gap between my head and the windowframe where the sheet held my head and protected me from the bumping. I decided the best way to look at it was to embrace the symbolic transition from the comfort of Nepal and having a base, to the open road that lies ahead of me with no sheet as my cover.

And so it was, a night of travel to the border, a stop for tea, another bus to the crossing point in Sunali, stamping passports, and trudging through the depressing streets of another border town that couldve been aywhere else in the world. We got on the bus to Gorakpur while we got stuck for a few hours out of sheer exhaustion and then on a 3 hour busride that shouldve been 1 hour to Kushinagar. Because I am with a group of friends and dont have to be as aware as in other situations, most of those past 24 hours area blur of lifting bags on an off the buses and wondering why my bag is so heavy. Beyond that, I wandered from bus to bus, station to station, in a confused state of blissful stupor.

We are now staying at the Burmese temple, where the rooms are by donation, andthe hallway smells pungently like the Neem Tail anti-moquito oilwe bought from the Ayurvedic shop. Its a frightening mixture of smells from rotting onions and garlic to some sort of car fluid.

There seems to be an odd competition here for which country has the nicest temple, as tehre are representatives from Burma, China, Korea, Japan, Tibet, Srik Lanka--- and of course the International Guest House, which by far doest not inspire me towards internationalism based on its decor. The town is nice, the room has a fan, and we were able to sing Kabalat Shabbat at a restaurant we found. Overall, its a nice inbetween for us all to go on our way to the great mountains and deserts of North India that are awaiting us...

Sweet decliciousness...

danielle_bergman — Thu, 12 Jun 2008 00:50:00 GMT

A weekend getaway in the lakeside resort of Pokhara… what could be better than being perched in a boat on the lake as the sun sets and the mountains of Machupuchare peek out through the clouds? The sun has been slowly going down to rest after a hot day and its chasing its solitude among the clouds and hills in the distance. Its rays are s till shining through and reflecting on the water, which moved calmly with the stirring of the boats drifting and people swimming. This was well worth the seven hour bus ride of stopping for busted tires and repeated breaks, with cucumber hagglers and potato chip vendors. Well worth the sweltering heat and bump bumping with no leg room. The stickiness of my body against the seat reminded me of sitting for weeks in the van last summer, unable to move from the dripping sweat enveloping me at all times. It felt like a different country, a different universe perhaps, once we got to Pokara. The calming presence of the water and sudden quiet solitude that less cars and honking will bring. We went straight for the grassy patch on the water and again let the stars and fireflies mesh together for their nightly concert. This concert is certainly as good as and less crowded than any show I've seen in the cities I roam through.

From there, it was a series of weird yet not so unfortunate encounters, starting with the young guys whose faces we could not see in the dark, trying to convince us to go boating and using remarkably clever responses to our protests. As I sat there listening lines like “My dreams are lost in the water, can you help me go get them?” and “No thank you is no fun, just say okay and you will see how wonderful everything is, now is the best time.” I felt like I was in some bad movie from the 1950’s. After warding off all the restaurateurs with promises of the best food and deals in town, we found a small nice place that promised “Local Food” and a “Family Running Restaurant” which made me a customized Thankthuk (Tibetan soup, like creplach for all the Jews out there) of fresh vegetables and no salt. It started to pour and we enjoyed one of the best feelings in the world- that of being protected by a small shelter and watching the huge drops of lightening all around us. The lightning and thunder erupted so loudly and suddenly I jumped each time, stirring around the warm soup swimming inside me.

We started to walk through the downpour to find the 3 SISTERS GUESTHOUSE ( run by the women’s trekking agency I had been talking about since before leaving the States) when a passing figure with his rain coat pulled over his head as a defenseless shield emerged and asked if we needed a room. Considering we were not sure how far the guesthouse was, and the rain was quite torrential at this point, we went with him. Turns out we got lucky in the wee hours of the night, with a beautiful room, and an owner, Guru, of equal persuasion. As we were saying goodnight, I asked is he knew somewhere I could do yoga in the morning, and he smiled with his eyes and said he does it every morning at 6am in his garden and would wake. Thus, at 530 there was a knock on the door and a middle aged man in his underwear and tank top bading me to join him. With sleep still in my eyes, I straggled down to the morning dew and saw that we were perched right at the entrance to the forest, and he had set up the mat for me next to his, overlooking it all. He had his book of the 44 poses that this guru suggested and we started with OM’s and praises for the gods of our choice. He was actually a good teacher and a genuine presence, lifting his shirt so I could see how his stomach was positioned and waiting for me to look on at his moved. This was the exact type of yoga you need a teacher for, slow and patient with breathing and little movement. He kept saying, now you breathe in the fresh air and the power of the gods, and out anything bad- any coughs, allergies or bad feelings and just take in the beauty. It started raining so we went under the balcony and he told me he always does his yoga outside because theres no new fresh air inside the room and you can’t breathe in everything around you. Then he started saying how people come from all over and pay thousands of rupees for courses, when you have all you need, and the book helps you. Again, I felt the joy of being able to continue my movement as the rain fell all around me.

I’m not sure how it fit in, although I guess it fits in perfectly with the relaxed feel of a beach town, that at our breakfast we met this middle aged American man whose soul was lost somewhere within his coffee and newspaper. He went back and forth on the importance of having the thirst of the soul within you and how if devotees would point their energies within rather than churches and idols all the time they would feel much better. I guess he stuck out for me as a symbol of how we all still work through our feelings of strength, security, and serenity no matter what age we are. I thought how if I was feeling weak, his words would have been more poignant, but right now all I wanted was to enjoy my breakfast and not smile incessantly while I chew. I did take one things out of what we was saying- when talking about the fuel crises her he said that at least one positive is that people need to get around more by their own means, just like how in Cuba during a food cost crises people simply learned how to farm their own food. I hope this happens more throughout the West soon.

After this we walked to the 3 SISTERS and I gave the rest of the shirts (I had friends bring the wind up flashlight, show clamps, and hiking boots last month) that unsustainably traveled all the way from America (because we are a perfect nation without suffering) and was happy to see the genuinity beyond the website. We met with Lucky Chhetri, the sister who started the project, and she was so warm and sincere that the room lit up. She told us of different projects they are doing- they also have an orphanage (all the girls came over to watch a movie at the guesthouse), and are working to develop tourism in the West of the country, which is the poorest area. I am working on accepting that tourism is not something you can separate from the country, as in feelings of anger when walking through the tourist area and seeing how much it is like Disneyworld, because tourism is so closely intertwined with the economy here. While there is a fear of taking away from the preserved culture of the West, the Nepalis have learned that tourists bring in the money, and are working within that system. In the West, they are working to teach them more cash crops and also about tourists and how to be guides with better English so they can interact better with travelers.

Now, here I am, back to the sunset and the flutes and rums of the swamis in the backgrounds and steering away from trying to put the day in the file cabinet of memories. Her I am, sitting in soaked clothing after a warm swim in the lake and mango juice all over me.

The sweet deliciousness of a sun soaked day and a painting waiting to happen…

A minor of explosion of gas, a major outburst of fireflies and stars

danielle_bergman — Sun, 1 Jun 2008 19:29:00 GMT

I took the bike to fix a puncture the other day, and enjoyed seeing the mechanic put the tire in water to look for air bubbles to tell where the hold was. His patience in rotating the tire to put each section in the shallow bucket, pressing gently and looking intently was quite impressive.

I keep getting these lessons on patience in the most obscure ways. I tried to deal with the gas burner that exploded on me this weekend (story to come), and the guy at the store simply screwed it on and said “it works fine, you must have patience, you cant push it quickly, you must listen to is and have patience”, and on and on.

So, perhaps I did not have enough patience with the gas, but I’m happy to say I did have enough to walk six hours in the sun and enough to sleep outside like I;ve always wanted and not be afraid.

Tom-Lev, Ben, Yoel and I went on a bus to Dulikhel, around 2 hours away, bought a kilo of litchi for the road, and from there began walking. First up the endless steps to the Kali Mandir, then down through the winding roads of peoples lives. From that peak on we could feel the relief of being on the outskirts of the bustle of the city and start soaking in the calm of the green around us. It was quickly clear, however, that we were not on the path less traveled- as we deciphered that the group of adorable children following us were repeating the often heard mantra “one pen, one rupee, chocolate, one photo” rather than fuzzy words in Nepali. It was funny when Tom said “Ain Li Klum” (meaning I have nothing in Hebrew) and one of the little girls started repeating her. Every child we say would without a thought scream out one of all the requests as we passed- one even threw a potato at tom when she didn’t respond!

On either side of us were endless patches of bright green rice paddies and brown sections of potatoes. We watched as the women worked in the boiling sun and the men sat in the shade, and I felt my insides become the temperature of rage. How is it possible to think of women as weaker when they are doing all the work in the fiel and at home? How do these women even have the capacity to work that hard and long- how do they bodies physically endure the weight of the baskets of bricks or fodder that they carry on their heads and their backs slouch and they height simply shrinks over time? Well, I guess the colors are pleasing to the passing tourists eyes- but again, it made me think of what the university student told me on top of the bus the first weekend- “our poverty looks beautiful in toher country eyes, yes?”

And so it was, we continued on through the village of Sankhu with its different colored houses and thatched roofs looking out on the open spaces that sustain us all, over bridges connecting people and goods until we reached Panaouti and the end of our litchi.

For the last stretch of the walk we had a nice man named Ram Prashad (I met around 5 others once we entered the village) walk with us and ward off the swarms of chanting children. As we passed orange and apple trees, he asked if we also had them in Israel. If he only knew the delicousness of the nectars of the Holy Land! Then he tried to ask what we do with dead bodies in our culture, which was understood only after many hand motions and unpleasant noises to symbolize dying. Eventually I figured out the word for grave was similar to house- as in, in our culture we build houses underground, in his a fire above. I was able to confirm this was what we were talking about when we reached the site of a temple on the filthy water and a fire, which was actually a body burning. Although I saw this same site from a distance last week when we went to Pashupati (very important site in Kathmandu where they burn all the bodies), it was still striking to see two dark feet sticking out amongst the white of his clothing and the oranges of the flames. Now we understood why he said this was the bad river, and further along theres a better one…

It was around 6 pm when we began a mad search for Dal Bhat (rice and lentils, the national food) before dark so we could still be able to find a patch of earth to sleep. 6pm is apparently the wrong time to search for Dal Bhat, as the eating schedule is more like 6 am a light snack, 10 am Dal Bhat, 2pm snack, and 7pm Dal Bhat again. So they settled for meat moms and I for some mixed beans. I also bought some carrots and zucchini and borrowed oil from the restaurant – now totally prepared to play survivor in the woods. We gave one last look at the sky for confirmation it wouldn’t rain and set out to find a semi-hidden spot on the banks of the narrow river. We settled for what turned out to be the neighborhood shower area and waited out the last man rinsing off to get comfortable. I tired to set up the gas but as I swered it on I heard leaking sounds. Tom tried a few times and then suddently threw the little tank f butane as a fire erupted. Perhaps erupted is a strong word to use, but it was substantially big considering the tank could explode and the was plenty of flammable stuff around it. We dispersed to a safe distance and watched the flames illuminate the one pitch black night. After a few minutes the flamed went out and we kicked the gas into the water to be safe. Raw carrots for dinner it was.

After all the excitement, we settled down to watch the marriage of the fireflies and stars until it felt like the lights of a concert just for us. I woke with the morning dew and rushing water and began to understand how poetry was born. And, oh the poems I could write on the genuine niceness of the nepali people! Because the gas broke (or at least there was no way I would touch it again) I asked a Didi (term for any woman figure) if I could use her stove to make the oatmeal I’d bought. Even though she let me make it in her kitchen and through broken nepali I managed to explain it was from wheat and very good for you, and I made enough for her too- she insisted we sit while she serves us and looked on in utter glee as our bellies filled up. She insisted on waiting until we were done and had scooped out seconds without touching our cups (a cultural taboo, and a feat considering the stickiness of oatmeal). She didn’t try it with us- saying she would only eat after we did- but I think she didn’t want to ruin her appetite for her 10am Dal Bhat. We walked by the narrow path, down the worn foot path to our grassy abode, and I thought how other tourists would look at the trail from the highway and think how nice it was, but to us we already feel part of it all enough to become a scene in the picture. It probably doesn’t really look that way, and certainly doesn’t always feel so- but for that moment…

We spent the day reading until the rains came and we hid with the cows and their stench and watched the rice paddies overflow with water and joy…

Cat Cow and a group of 30 year old men

danielle_bergman — Sun, 1 Jun 2008 19:25:00 GMT

And so passes another interesting week here in the bellies of the heat of Kathmandu. I have started doing some yoga with kids in an orphanage next to the house, street children in a drop-in center, and adults males in a drug rehab center. Going to these places and working with such different groups and individuals has been most enjoyable, and it is fascinating to see the different responses from the groups. The main idea I had so far with the kids was drawing pictures of the different poses and then doing them with noises.

For example, for Downward Dog I had them draw a dog first, and then we would get into the position and all bark like dogs. This idea works especially well because it requires little language (beyond knowing the names of animals in Nepali and how to say “Ok, not get up and make the noise!” and “Breathe in and out!”) and it works well with short attention spans to go from sitting to movement. I was amazed that at the drop-in center they immediately got into it and worked with me for a full 20 minutes, quite an impressive feat. They loved making the noises and trying to perfect their drawings, and then twisting themselves into weird shapes. However, at the orphanage, where they are used to a strict regimen and sitting for long periods in school, they actually wanted me to do some flow-yoga with them and not break it up all the time with the drawings.

To go to the drug rehab center I had to get up at 540 in the morning for the 630 allotted time. I came thinking I could sit quietly and join their activities for the first day, but I should have known better. After watching them do sun salutations in two rows of three while the others watched, and joining hands for some prayer in Nepali I couldn’t understand (probably about the power of god within themselves, as it is heavily based on the 12-step program), they asked me what I could show them. I was a bit thrown off at their readiness to listen to me, and the heat of the room was making me dizzy. I told them I had wanted to see how they do things and observe, but one pose I really like is Tree pose, so we all did that and almost fell over. I had them do one sun salutation with me, telling them when to breathe. Then they started showing me different poses and all took turns going in the middle doing shoulder stands.

The best though was when I asked them is they were willing to be silly like children and went into cat-cow with noises and all- that’s right, I had a group of fifteen 20-30 year old men mooing and meowing on all fours. I told them its important to let go and allow yourself to make funny sounds or move your body in new ways. The volunteer teacher that day, someone who has been in an out of the program told me that since they are all recovering addicts they struggle with the moves and still have a hard time with their bodies. I told him we all have a hard time with them and can work together to learn how to use them better. It was amazing how open and willing they were.

At the end we chanted OM five time and they asked me to talk. Its hard to be unsure of what to say on top of uncertain how much people understand you, on top of feeling like I am talking to a bunch of men who may not wat floyw language. So I quoted some Ariel-isms on how many of us have forgotten that we have a body and the importance of breath going in and out of it, and that often when we use drugs we put aside how cool it is to move our bodies. It is nice to appreciate small actions and not be hard on ourselves. Afterward the volunteer w as telling me how he acts as a mobilizer for the group and how much they would like to learn form me and my experiences. I felt a bit like a hoax, because they know about as much as I do, but I guess I just better start studying up on the Sanskrit names of the asanas and that way to get a good flow going.

I came again on Wednesday and told them that I realize that part of what helps me is influences from other cultures, and I thought it would be nice to try something for them from my culture. We all sat around and chanted SHALOM 5 times, with me singing it and them all repeated. I told them that Shalom means Hello, Peace, and Goodbye and it is a great mantra. Then we did some breathing and balancing poses again, and I stressed the beauty of working on balancing is that it is something that gets easier over time and you can see a noticeable change with, and it teaches us patience to not get angry with ourselves if we are having a hard time. Its nice also, by the way, that most of them have a good enough grasp on English and are so helpful at translating for the others who don’t, and I am also practicing some Nepali throughout the time there. At the end, I gave them paper and crayons and asked them all to write in Nepali or English an intention for the day, and then we threw it into the middle of the circle and all grabbed one. They took turns reading it out loud, and one person had written “Isolation” in Nepali, apparently not quite getting the idea of intention rather than how you are feeling now. One of them wrote in English they want to help others when they are in trouble, one wrote to not feel lonely, patience. So, I ended by telling them that they can think of these intentions throughout the day if they are having a hard time and remember that we all set goals for ourselves for the day both to have something to attain and to help bring us back to being calm, and it was a great way to start the day…

this is old about elections... but never posted...

danielle_bergman — Fri, 16 May 2008 06:17:00 GMT

Only in Nepal could walking into the jungle and down a mountain to get to the voting location be considered easy. Women and men with wrinkled skin and nimble limbs have walked for days, and continue down, If my grandparents could walk like this...its unbelievable. We probably dont get such a percent to show up for our elections, all we have to do is go around the corner. Freedom certainly is exhilirating, expecially when you walk a little further for it.

It is incredible to see the younger men explaining to the elder how to fill our the pictorial ballot ( a large percentage of the population is illiterate); one woman didnt understand that she needs to keep her paper inside the ballot box so people dont see ,and wanted them to show her how to fill it out. First they go and get their thumbs marked with a permanent ink so that they cannot come more than once (this is also used as an ID card, since nodoby has any form of ID).Then they go and fill out the blue form for the person, and the punk for the party. No wonder if it confusing though--- there are 54 parties to choose from. Thats a lot of political symbols!

We are at the bottom of the hill, the mountain of green above, flowered with reds and blues of people making their way over. The rocks have been worn down to suitable stairs over years of use. all culminating for the important usability of this great day.

Female police with bamboo sticks and male soldeirs in camouflage with guns slung on their backs.

Women have a much more active public role than i thought, then again we are not in the middle east, but in the far part of another world. The scene behind me looks like a red sea of women in saris, with nose rings and tikas. men in line with the traditional topi, nepali hat. The line seems to be flowing and their order working well enough. it takes all of the older people, even some of the younger, a few tries before their figure out (or are showed) how to put the stamp on the ink-- they pick it up and look at it for a moment, triwling it around mystified. This mark is the swasticka which willl claim the future of the country, chosen by the people (even if it is some of the same people more than once).

AT 5pm, when nobody had really showed up for two hours, they began to close the polls. Some forms were put in a canvas bag and a candle was lit to seal the bag with wax. We were explained that this was how they seal all official documents in Nepal, and we sat amazed, thinking this mehod had stopped a centuy ago. Slings were made to carry the heavy ballot boxes on their heads for the vertical climb back up the mountain. When everything was cleared away and no evidence remained of the miraculous events of the day, it again became just another piece of land covered with garbage. And then we were on our way, a parade of observers, lingering voters, party representatives, and spectators along for the fun of it.

This is what you call Shades of Green and a Taste of Something like Freedom with Chili Peppers...

a little poetry, shall we?

danielle_bergman — Fri, 16 May 2008 05:42:00 GMT

puff puff clouds in the sky

like the saddhus by the temple

and mountains in the distane

coconut pujas and rice for the gods

the reds of the tikas and blood of animals

mixing around me

the colors all get lost in the ocean of excitement

and everything becomes

god

like the smoke of burning garbage and that of fuel for food

and the soot covered figures emerging from the flames.

****

if all the greens in the world were put together in a city

they still would not compare to the shades of the village

the long bamboo and skinny wheat grow high

prickly cactus and marshy terraces

the sharp contrast of the bright dresses against the tall grass

the music of the river rushing against the rocks

and children with full bellies racing in the distance

the sounds of the city are that of hunger and despair

it is the ralization in this day and age

that you have left your garden of eden

and are standing naked against the attempts to achieve

with the rest of the world around you pointing at your immodesty.

And Finally, a little look into what I am doing here...

danielle_bergman — Fri, 16 May 2008 05:33:00 GMT

There are some very exciting developments regarding my volunteer work here, which until now I have also not really talked about. I have decided to focus in on a few projects in Kathmandu. I am going in the afternoons to a very high level and well off English school in the Bodha area.It is a school that someone from the last group worked in and implemented a program called ICARE, which they wrote up as a means of empowering the future of Nepal with tools to becoming leaders and more environmentally and culturally aware. The program is broken into 14 meetings- with activities on Childrens and Womens Rights, Ecological Footprints, a trip to the Bagmati River (to see the parts that are clean and its depletion as you get into the city), Corporations and our relations to them, and more.

We are taking it in a bit of a different direction, and working with the children who went through the program a few months ago who are now in grades 9 and 10. We are finding different volunteer options to take them to near the school. The idea is that they will learn more about what is going on in their neighborhood and how to be activists, while implementing what they learned in ICARE. We are also working with them to teach the program to the grade below them.

So far we have 2 homes for children with special needs for them to go to. This contact has led me to try and implement another project--- all of the homes for special needs we have spoken to say that they do not talk to one another and do not really trust the other organizations, but do share a common dislike for the government and their lack of help. We have been told by one that the groups quickly trust the foreigner and that we may be able to use that trust to our advantage to create a seminar at our house in which we invite all the groups.

I am very excited about this project and am doing research now into the Social Welfare programs through the government and issues that would need to be addressed to the groups. We also realized that right now they are rewriting the constitution of Nepal and it is a chance for the organizations to collaborate and write a proposal for a new system of dealing with Special Education. This will most likely be a main focus in our seminar.

It was also great to see one place, called New Life Development Center. They have a beautiful center for a group of 40 people ranigng in ages 4-42. They dont accept cash donations, but rather only donations in the forms of goods they need. They recently got two solar cookers, they have pigeons and other birds that they do animal therapy with, and even some machines for physcial therapy. The people who run it are a couple who have fully devoted themsevles to the center and rigorously train all those who come to work with them, as there is no real special ed or physical therapy program in colleges, at least from what I understand thus far.

Outside of that project, we had a meeting yesterday with a human rights group that is going to bring porter children to meet with 5 kids from the school we work in for weekly meetings. This is partially the heart of the whole program- we are hoping to videotape the meetings and make a documentary. The idea is that the relationship will form a sense brotherly responsiblity between the children and they will be able to open up their very different worlds to eachother and find a medium of communication. The boys we tooke were practically falling off their seats on the couch absorbing what we were talking about. Ghaman, one of th heads of the organization. was talking about hi experience as a child porter himself, carrying 25kg at a young age when he was helping out treks. They talked about the children not knowing their rights and how to care for themselves and hopes for long term projetcs raising awareness on human rights violations.

We discussed the concept of informal education, amazing to see in this setting that is so structured on simply listening and copying. Most of the talking was done in Nepali, a benefit to all of them but a bit of a loss for us, but from what I grasped the kids were expressing their interest in helping others and were a bit nervous how to talk to the working children. One of them asked if they should tell hem not to work and to go to school, and if they should ask what their work is like. We stressed how we must remember they are all boys of th same ae and in the end of the day we are all the same- it is not about a higher level giing to the lower level and we shouldnt feel pity. We agreed this is about sharing and reating a more equal Nepal, and one of the kids added in that it is about creating more respect.

The children are absolutely amazing, and the way they speak English is at such a high and poetic level, it is beautiful to listen to. After sitting for the hour and talking, we wanted to lighten the energy, and we all (including all the adults) played the game where you are on the floor and your arms are all wrapped with eachother and you have to pass the pat around the room. I told the children that this is a good example of an easy way to connect with others, because games are a universal language.

We are also very much hoping ( I sound like a Nepali speaking english, its awful) to create a similar program with the girls. There are many girl workers making Tongka paintings (traditional Tibetan meditation artwork) in bad condtions, and we want to connect them with girls from the school for an educational exchange- in which the girls would teach them something and the workers would teach them how to paint. We think this is very important because it will give a greater sense of self worth to both groups of the girls, but especially the workers so that they can feel more like what they are doing is a skill and something to be proud of.

Other than those projects we are starting to work with a new volunteer organization called Children for a Green New Nepal (CGNN) , run by university students here. They go around and do presentations on environmental issues such as Air Pollution, Water Pollution, Deforestation, Global Warming, and more for schools- with very well done posters and excellent explanations. They also do street theatre and garbage collections. We are arraging for the students to partake in these activities-- meaning they would learn how to do the presenatations themselves, or act in the plays, or go around and collect garbage. Many of the children are really into these projects, because they were strongly affected by the trip of the Bagmati they did, and it is something tangible they can relate to-- they all remember when they could go swimming and drink from the Bagmati just a few years ago. Many of them also love putting on plays and are really theatrical. We are trying to come up with ways to get CGNN some grants or more money to become more established since it is a volunteer run orgnization and that is pretty rare.

Lastly then, we are sitting with the older kids to go over the program and having them teach it to class 8. This is an interesting role for me to be in, as I am used to being in Young Judaea and writing the activities and implementing them myself, but I am learning to stand back and see how they interpret it all. At least I still get to go over icebreaker games.

Since most of this takes places in the afternoons. I am hoping to start doing yoga nad mediations (various forms) at different orphanages and drop in centers for street children.

Another very interesting dvevelopment is a relationship we hope to build with an organization called Love Green Nepal, check them out online. They were established in the early 90's with the help of Love Green Japan, their sister org. They have a beautiul nursery in the Panchkal region, which I was lucky enough to visit the other day (actaully, I got to do a whole day touring the area in a jeep and getting explanations of the work they do). They are the leaders in the attempts to start up organic agriculture and a demand for it as well as more sustainable methods of farming and living (one in the same really, no?) Their work is truly incredible-- they focus on training farmers on new techniques, helping low income women with farming jobs, renovating schools, planting trees, giving girls scholarships, building bio gas toilets, and female leadership training seminars.

At their nursery we got to see guavas, coffee trees, cuumbers, gingko biloba, ppaya, mango, lemongrass, sandalwood, buddha malla trees (which malla beads come from), and much more. It was like a little Garden of Eden.

They mainly work within 5 VDC (village development centers) and so far have farmers come every year during the monsoon season to get seeds to plant trees at a very discounted price do training on how to plant, have built 22 schools, and right now 157 girls getting sholarships from them. They suport the kids from grades 6-12 and are now figuring out how to support them beyond them. One project they are doing with the older ones is leadership training and public speaking, in which they have a group of the girls meet and prepare topics to present to the group and others have to prepare rebuttles and discussion points. Then in the meeting, they all go around and have to each speak for one minute, just to get them comfortable with the idea of speaking in public. They also said the girls are very interested in improving their spoken English, which is where I migh be able to come into play --- going there once a week and working with them for a few hours. I am imagining them to be a very motivated and interesting group of women, and I would love to connet with them while doing something good for such a great organization.

We also got to go around and see the biogas bathrooms they set up, around 700 of them total, and see how it works. In this case, either human or animal manure goes into a big hole with a mixer. You mix the manure with water until you break down the solids, and then pull a plug for it to go to the air tight seal, then transported and transformed into gas for cooking. It is a truly amazing process, especially the way we were able to see the transformation.

On that note, I must go look up animal yoga poses now, if anyone has any ideas let me know... so far Ive got alligator, butterfly, and elephant.

Sorry for the chaotic order of writing, I am working on it. Namaste.

The Science of Touch

danielle_bergman — Fri, 9 May 2008 23:30:00 GMT

I was on a crowded bus, as all buses here are, sitting with my back to driver and facing the riders. A beautiful girl my age got on with her grandmother and sat in front of me. In order to do this, I had to position my legs around the grandma so she could place her small body between them. Her granddaughters arm was around her, they looked like they had a good, loving relationship. The bus stopped and started constantly, the driver pressing his musical horn. There are two types of horns here- I am still trying to decipher what they mean. One is the normal honking sound, but the other is a full couple chords melody. They use them interchangeably, and sometimes seemingly unnecessarily. There is a honk to let others know you are coming, one to tell them to move, one for impatience, and one I swear is just to play the melody when you’re the one who succeeds in winding out of the traffic first and want to symbol your victory. Anyway, the old woman was being jolted by the sudden movements and put her hand on my thigh for support. I smiled at them and started talk to me in Nepali. I asked the girl how far we were from my destination, and the grandma asked why I wasn’t with friends. “I have a friend on the bus I said” in broken Nepali. Then she started pointing to my face, and the girl translated that she was asking why I had pimples. “It’s very hot and dirty here.” “She wants to tell you that my aunt is a beautician.” The girl said. I laughed. “Thank you, but tell her I didn’t come to Nepal to worry about my beauty. It’s funny though, all grandmothers are the same. My grandmother doesn’t like my nose ring, so I have to take it out when I see her.” The whole time her hand was on my thigh, squeezing me with each abrupt jerk. The touch was comforting me as well. It felt nice to know that I was providing her support. When they were getting off the bus, the girl gave me her number and pointed to where their house is. “You see”, she said, “You can see it from the side of the road, that house there with the purple window and flowers on the balcony. My grandmother would like you to come over for tea sometime… oh, and put sandalwood with rosewater on your face for 15 minutes” she said as she was pushed out the stairs to make room for more people.

On another bus this one a micro packed to capacity, I squeezed in between a monk and a broad shouldered man. There was a little boy sitting on the mans lap, and the man put his hand against the boys head so it would not hit the window as we made our way along the bumpy road. Again, our legs were intricately woven between each other. I looked out the window as the monk passed his malla beads through his slender fingers. A few stops later a few women got off and the little boy with them. The man who held his head did not even know him. He did the fatherly act of love on his own. I have never seen anyone else fare so tenderly for another on public transportation before. It led me to think of the science of touch. There is such an interesting dynamic of the way people get close and touch each other here. It is a balance between retaining the modesty the culture calls for, and coping with a large number of people being around you at all times. It is something I have heard noticed in India, which is shared here as well. People are modest in the dress style and nudity is taboo, yet are quick to embrace and the concept of personal space is nearly extinct. It is also very crazy to see the intense rush and pushing when trying to get a seat somewhere or needing to wait in line, but once after the chaos has died down and the shoving subsided, if someone so much as accidentally scoffs you they will bring their head to the affronted spot and apologize. Such is the schizophrenic lifestyle of the third world…

Pani Omala and Mental Breakdowns

danielle_bergman — Fri, 9 May 2008 21:41:00 GMT

Im sitting in the silence of the 2 am computer room in the house and writing in Word because the internet is too slow. Im thinking of where to start the writing, as I do every time, and sad at how bad I am at keeping this blog. Im also thinking of the concept of it as a personal public space, the two meshing together and intertwining with my thoughts of how to update a general crowd. I have decided that I wanted to share that part of why I haven’t written is because over the past few weeks I felt that I was experiencing a bit of an irrational breakdown which greatly disabled me from doing anything much productive other than feeling crazed. I realized that the only way to get out of the figurative space was to change my literal space, and decided rather quickly to head to the village (that I had decided not to live in) for the week. Now I have come back from that week in a much better place, although still unsure of what I am doing, and attempting to maintain this good energy.

I just brushed my hands over my shoulders and felt how hot they are, the red color of them catching my eye, from a wonderful day of working in our garden in the house. We are doing a Ecological Seminar this weekend with Gur, our visiting agricultural specialist and founder of Adamama in Israel. I like feeling the warmth in my shoulders. We went over what we have in the garden thus far, like lettuce and beets and mint and more, and started planting new seeds of oregano, beans, tomatoes, cilantro in rows throughout the terraces. I planted some oregano and then went around with tape to mark pieces of bamboo that I hammered into the ground with rocks to show what everything is. We created a sort of spider web handing from one end of the courtyard up to the first floor of the house which we are going to hang the passionfruit vines on so they can grow along it.

We also discussed the importance of compost in all its beautiful forms. We have begun using the compost toilet that was made in the house--- a bucket that is then brought out and transferred to a bin with worms, but today we said that it would be even more convenient in there was a toilet outside, to eliminate the extra process of carrying. I can say that I was more enthusiastic about the idea than most, although some valid points like needing to stay on good terms with the neighbors were raised. However, a structure was built to be the outhouse and holes were dug, and hopefully soon we will have an outdoor toilet to enjoy the stars in.

I have been incredibly into the beauty of connecting more with the earth around us, as I have desired for a long time and have not had any outlet for. Although this past week at the village we were not involved in the garden that they are building up as a model for the village to see, we did go over all the different plants and I have begun to be able to identify what things I had until recently only seen in the Supermarket look like when they are in the ground. It feels so liberating to walk through the grass rather than through the aisle and see leaves in front of me but envision the fruit or vegetable that it becomes.

One thing that is most exciting is that I can now spot Pani Omala, “forest water”, which I was given when we climbed up the mountain after the elections and I didn’t feel well. It is a small nitrogen giving plant, who roots have little balls of bursts of tasty water in them. I have also managed to explain to the family we are with in the village (will explain more about that) that I want to learn about their garden and they let me go with one of he younger daughters to pick out my own bit of cilantro to have with dinner.

It is amazing to see how self sufficient the families are. This family has their own garden that they get most if not all of their food from, cows that give them milk and also manure for compost, they build fires to cook and don’t rely on gas, there is a tap from the river for washing, and the father is a carpenter and can make whatever you ask of him (including a basic chimney without a fan that doesn’t work, but we are working on it together).

My mind has been tripping on the combination of long thinking non-materialism (of any sort) is the right direction and experiencing a dire sense of importance in the concept of owning something to be proud of and feel connected to. I am working out how the two go together, but all experiences have been coming back to the idea of creating something of my own. It is partially about creativity, and wanting even something as small as a connection with drawing or playing an instrument or knitting to the greater thoughts of being about the closeness with the earth and understanding our part in it better.

I am sure these thoughts are intertwined with the discussion on how to help street children and really all people connect better to the space around them. The thought is that if one has a space, painting, any sort of project to connect to we will begin to feel a greater sense of purpose and thus desire more of a future for ourselves. All this talk has made me want to… create.

And finally, a fair trade for the workers

danielle_bergman — Mon, 28 Apr 2008 16:33:00 GMT

This is more me organizing my notes from the meeting, but I thought they were interesting to share... more later

I went to a fair trade group today, which was a great experience. one woman took me around the whole facilities, i got to see how they design the textiles, the wood carving and pottery center, knitting. The coolest was seeing how felt is made-- dying the wool and putting it through a machine that gets the kinks out and softens it, then putting it in hot water and using soap water to mold things with it.

The center is a complete holistic facility. They have producer benefit programs for the workers, in which 7% of each persons pay goes to medical benefits, and another 7% to pay for time off during the holidays. They give 90 days paid maternity leave, and 15 day paternity. They also put extra money aside for a reitrement plan and further child eduction.

There is village involvement from women who work from them wanting family in the village to get a job. ACP lets them work from home and will do something like dying the yarn at the factory, having it woven in the village and havingt them stitch it. They put up notices around the village asking for stitchers to help.

Workers are decided on need rather than skill, although they must already having some training, but the thought is who needs the job more and would not get a job in their village, and those are the people they want to help.

There is a rain catching system with an underground tank to recycle water and use it when making products. They use recycled paper, and the steam from the boilder used to dry products is used to heat the water for felt.

I did find out that the pay is still minimal, but the surroundings are very pleasant. The government living minimal wage is 120 rupees a day, and here the woman make around 125 rupees excluding all the benefits for an 8 hour day. I guess when you weigh it out it is enough to live on and balances out with the benefits from the organization.

There is an informal education program where they have street plays or watch movies and find an educational angle in them, such as sex or drugs, health issues, early marriage. Sometimes they go to the villages to do the educational programs and anyone there can come.