The first full day in Gumda was a busy one and, after digging the toilet, our next task was to go to the school. We met the teachers - except the english teacher who was elsewhere - and the principle and they'd arranged a little welcome ceremony for us. First, they put a blob of red colour on my forehead, which is a traditional sign of welcome. Next, they put a blob of damp rice on my forehead, which they claim is also a traditional sign of welcome but I think is probably just to make guests look a little silly. It's hard to take anyone seriously when they have food stuck to the middle of their head. Then, another lovely peach scarf was hung round my neck, as were numerous garlands of flowers. Thus decorated, we walked between the two rows of clapping, waving children, and we waved and smiled like royalty. Many of them gave me rhododendrons, which are the national flower of Nepal and yet another traditional sign of welcome. Very hospitable lot, the Nepalese.
Suitably welcomed, we headed back to the house to get settled in. I feared my new rhododendrons would add the pile of wilting flowers I already had in my room. I needn't have worried. By happy accident, I left my flowers for a moment on the step outside the house, and small children came and ate them. I was unaware that they are considered edible here and also that they're sometimes used as medicine. Apparently munching on a flower can cure everything from stomach pains to having a fish bone stuck in your throat. Who'dve thunk.
In the afternoon, I decided to make a start on some laundry. Having spent three days getting here and having a limited number of clothes, there were already things to be washed. There are three places to do laundry: the communal tap round the corner, the water tank on the other side of the village, or the sacred pond. The communal tap constantly drips water but can't be persuaded to turn on any more, so it's not a good place for anything that needs much water. The water tank is perfect for laundry but is therefore always busy, especially in the afternoon. This left me and my dirty socks heading to the small pond under the trees, where the prayer ribbons are tied.
Thus positioned, I got on with the long and arduous task of washing things in cold, non-running water. Many people wandered past and greeted me with a friendly "Namaste!", to which I would reply and they would continue on their way. For the most part. One particular old woman found it necessary to Namaste a second time and, once I'd replied, to Namaste a third time. It was a bit of an odd situation. Every time I responded, she's say it again. In the end, I said "Namaste" in a final sort of tone and turned back my washing. She saluted the god in my once or twice more before heading on her way.
A little while later, a man came to talk to me. He was about Peter's height and build, with a similar hair cut, jeans and trainers. He was wearing a cap, sunglasses and a yellow scarf covering half his face. He addressed me in broken English. Now, I know full well that no one in the village can speak any English at all and can see that this man is clearly in disguise. I think I have mentioned, my translator Peter is an incorrigible joker and it was so obviously him. Why he'd decided to try and trick me into thinking he was a stranger I had no idea, but I wasn't going to fall for it. I laughed and told him I knew it was him, and he muttered something and left. A very odd exchange.
Back at the house, I was just hanging my clothes out on the line when Peter returned - with the man in the yellow scarf. In retrospect, the look on my face must have been incredibly amusing. The man was introduced as Ash Bahadur Gurung, the English teacher. He had not understood why I was laughing at him but he found the whole thing most amusing once it was explained to him. It had to be explained in Nepali though, as his English was not good. I wondered how he managed to teach a language he didn't understand, but I'd find that out later. Incidentally, the reason he walks around with the strange accessories is because he had an epileptic fit a few years ago and fell face first into the fire. Apparently the scarring is pretty bad and so he doesn't like to show his face any more. This wasn't a possibility I'd considered when I first met him and mistook his identity. Hey ho.
In the evening, Pernee returned from her shepherdessing duties. There are few people in the world that I'd describe as 'merry', but Pernee is one of them. She's one of the happiest, loveliest people I've ever met. She was always smiling, usually laughing and really looked after me. She was eternally patient as I tried to get my vocal chords around her crazy language and always asked me what the English word was. She'd struggle with English sounds just as much as I struggled with Gurung words, and then she'd laugh and forget almost immediately. We actually managed to communicate pretty well, with my increasing Gurung vocabulary and our mutual ability to understand each other's mimes. Mime is truely the friend of amateur linguists everywhere. Actually, my favourite times were when she, or anyone else, would make vague hand gestures to try and explain a word. When I looked puzzled, they'd simply repeat the word and I'd dutifully repeat it - then they'd ask what it was in English. Heh.
