A RESCUE ATTEMPT, GRASSROOTS STYLE: PART II

Sunday, December 10, 2011

At Soma Cafe, continued...

Most of us had never been in a Nepali dance bar, and didn't even really know what one was. Basically, it is a bar with a stage where girl dancers dance provocatively to loud popular beats and music. Because Nepal is a conservative kind of place, the girls usually aren't so scantily clad; it is still more than enough to distract a man like myself, in all honesty.

The whole production is of course meant to do this. What happens is that in between dances, the girls come out to the bar area and speak with potential customers. It all appears innocent, as per the unprogressive Nepali style. Even the provocative dancing at times seems more hidebound. Everything is very covert. Eventually numbers are exchanged and the customer agrees to meet with the girl at a later time and place, at which point the acts of prostitution occur.

Continued on Sunday, December 11, 2011, at the Delhi Airport, at 7:15 PM

It was a little awkward at first, walking into that dance bar, and seeing a girl dancing on the stage, with two male dancers backing her up. She was the main event, and some people in the crowd were cheering her on. She wore a smile. It looked like she was happy doing what she was doing, and I can see why Nepalis and Westerners alike can be easily deceived into thinking thoughts like, What's the matter? Let her go, she's making money and enjoying herself. I'm not saying that every dance bar girl does not want to be there, I'm merely saying things are not what they seem. It is a lot more complicated than it appears.

So there I was, along with the other abolishionists, throwing out silent prayers onto the situation and asking God to reach out and help these girls. I won't hide the fact that it was quite distracting, being a man and trying to do that. When I wasn't awkwardly looking away (you're expected to watch, of course!), I was trying hard to keep my eyes on her face. I had to appear interested for the operation to work out, but when I actually found myself interested, I would force myself to look away. It's not exactly natural for a man to look away from a beautiful Nepali girl. It's also not “natural” for a beautiful Nepali girl to be forced to dance like this. You can decide which one was more important for this moment. My psyche was in a weird state; it went from being distracted to focused on prayer, and then back again.

The music was entrancing too. The heavy beats made me want to get up and dance, but that's not really the norm at these places – dancing is reserved for the those on stage – so I just sat there and nodded my head to the beat. Rob, one of the other guys with us told me that if they put on Bieber, he was going to have to get up and dance. I couldn't tell if he was serious or not, but later on when Bieber's popular tune came blasting through the speakers, Rob was singing along with a big grin on his face. He must be one of those die-hards.

At some point, the girls in our group started up a conversation with a couple of the girl dancers. This was as planned, because things can quickly deteriorate if one of the guys talks to a girl. She might get the wrong idea, and the whole operation could just implode. The point is to take it one step at a time, to see how much the girl opens up, and to see what her needs are, while keeping the entire moment wrapped in prayer and discernment. Our goal was to get their numbers, so we could meet them somewhere later to offer to help them out of their situation. But we wouldn't be able to help them unless they wanted it.

At first it was awkward, and I didn't think anything would happen. Over the course of the evening however, things really opened up for us, and we ended up talking to at least three or four girls. When I say “we” I mean it was mostly our abolishionist girls doing the talking while Brian and Rahul translated. The guys hung out at a distance, didn't say much, and mostly kept the conversations covered in silent prayer. The group bought the girls drinks (like Coca Cola) and I was pleasantly surprised at how quickly some of them were able to open up. I enjoyed watching everyone interact on this real level with these girls. It was a joy to be a part of it, even if by just silently praying for them as they talked with us.

There was one girl in particular, that I had the opportunity to interact with a bit. I'll call her Shati. Those of us around the table were all talking to her with either Brian or Rahul translating. Shati is 20 years old, and has been working at this dance bar for a year. When her father died and her mother became sick, there was no one to take care of the family. Shati turned to “dancing” here at night while cleaning houses during the day, in order to help pay her family's bills and to put her little brother through school. Out of the three or four girls we had talked to, she was the most outspoken about wanting to get out of dance bar routine. We had tried to convince Shati to call us later at a number Brian had given her, so we could meet up and talk some more. The hope was to be able to get a better assessment on her situation, and then maybe have our girls take her out shopping or something. Eventually, we'd tell her about one of the safe houses Brian has connections with. Shati said that she wanted to call us later on, but that she didn't have a cell phone.

At some point a light bulb went off in my head: I could give her my phone.

I was only going to be around in Nepal a few days more anyway, really there was not much of a need for it. I had been planning to give my phone to Roshan, who is in need of one because his is broken, but it seemed obvious that it was more important Shati had one.

I discussed this prospect with Brian, as the music pounded our ears, and he thought well enough of it to give me the go-ahead. It would have to be discrete though, so the watchful male managers wouldn't catch it, lest they become suspicious and view it as an escape attempt on Shati's part (which, well, I guess it was just that). I copied down numbers from my phone that I thought I'd need at some point, then went into the bathroom and took out the SIM card, looking behind me to make sure one of the guy workers didn't come in and catch me fiddling with a cell phone. I had been using my friend Roshan's SIM card since I first arrived in Nepal, and he would need it back. Shati would be able to find another SIM card elsewhere, at least that's what Brian thought.

I then came back and sat next to one of my fellow abolishionists – a girl from my home state actually – and told her the plan. I slid the phone out of my pocket and put it on the seat, in-between us. We were close enough together that no one could see it. She picked it up, hid it in her pocket, and then motioned for Shati to come with her to the bathroom where Shati was given the phone.

We ended up praying for Shati, right there in the dance bar. As we left the bar later on, I was stoked about how well the night went. The ball was now in Shati's court, because she had a cell phone. She said she would call us the following Saturday. There were also plans made to come back the next day to meet up with another girl who said she'd be outside the bar at a certain time.

I told the team to keep me posted on what happens with these girls in the future, as I won't be there to see it. I'm flying back to the States tomorrow.

A RESCUE ATTEMPT, GRASSROOTS STYLE: PART I

Sunday, December 10, 2011

At Soma Cafe, at 12:15 PM

A couple nights ago, the New Abolishionists and I, along with our leader Brian, went into the highly touristy neighborhood called Thamel to do “outreach” at a dance bar. This outreach is a part of what the New Abolishionists are doing for their mission while here in Nepal. To me, it seemed like a grassroots rescue operation. We weren't just going in there sporadically without preparation, however.

This is an account of what occurred.

We met in the parking lot of a restaurant that is popular with Westerners. Brian Williams, who has been involved in rescue operations like this before, started off the night by giving us a brief training on the neighborhood and what we could expect. Being someone who is constantly in tune with his spiritual side, he told the group he had had a dream the previous night about a Nepali prince from the 17^th century. The prince was seated on his horse, and had huge rice sacks hanging from his saddle. For some reason, in the dream Brian was riding a bus that stopped right where this prince was, and Brian was observing him through one of the bus windows. Brian then saw the prince reach down and grab a young Nepali girl and force her into the one of the rice sacks. The prince then said “There! I have another wife!”

Being disturbed by this, Brian jumped out of the bus and ran over to the prince and began to open up the rice sack to rescue the girl. He saw a policeman nearby watching what was happening, but not doing anything. He also saw other princes with girls trapped in rice sacks, and other rescuers trying to get them out. Some people who were “enemies” then showed up and prevented Brian and the others from rescuing the girls by pulling at them and by putting their hands over the rice bags. The struggle continued until one of the enemies pulled out a knife, at which point Brian awoke from his dream.

After telling us about the dream, Brian talked about a story from the Bible involving Joshua, to whom God had told to go into the land and said that anywhere his feet touched will be given to him, in God's name. Brian then prayed for God's protection and blessing, and told us to go out into the neighborhood to pray and claim the ground for Jesus. I considered this a very charismatic Pentecostal kind of activity, and I confess I was a little skeptical; but by now I was used to these kinds of things so I went along and participated to the best of my ability. We canvassed the dance bar areas with prayer, and contemplated what God was telling us or where he wanted us to go.

After a half hour, we returned to the parking lot and debriefed. One of the guys in the group said he saw a dance bar near a sign that had the word "prince" on it. There was one of the blue military policemen – who are ubiquitous in Kathmandu – nearby too.  Both were references to Brian's dream.

It's not like we were all mystified with amazement and singing Cum By Yah together when we heard this. Brian himself mentioned later that he had been a bit skeptical about the point of the prayer walk. But this is the thing about faith in Nepal. They take it for what it is; they see a connection like this as from God, be it a big or little sign. And actually, at this point it was mostly foreigners in the group, with Brian and Rahul being the only Nepalis, so it took faith and agreement from all of us to decide on the next course of action.

We headed over to the dance bar near the sign on which was printed the word "prince."

AN AMERICAN STORY ABOUT HUMAN TRAFFICKING

Wednesday, December 7, 2011

At Higher Grounds Cafe, at 2:41 PM

Yesterday, a volunteer service team from America spent their first full day in Nepal. They are a group of twenty-somethings and they are staying at Brian's Balku House (the Prayer House). They call themselves “The New Abolishionists.” Their “mission” is to rid the world of modern slavery in all its forms, and they are spending the next month and a half working with Brian and other organizations in Nepal to be a small part of doing just that. I had the pleasure of meeting them all yesterday. I was surprised to see so many Americans, and I am always happy when I run into fellow Americans. I think there were actually more Americans in the house than Nepalis at one point, and that was definitely a first. I talked to them a little, asking them questions about the work they are doing. It became clear that they had been well trained and educated on the human trafficking matter. I told them to count me in their ranks.

They are a unique bunch of world citizens. As I talked with them, one guy stood out for some reason. I could tell that he probably had had a rough go of it in his life. “I'd like to sit down sometime and hear about some of your life, I am sure you have some interesting stories to tell,” I told him. I was surprised when right then and there, just after I'd met him, he started to talk about his life.

Tom has an incredibly tragic story to tell, about how he himself was trafficked after losing his house during Katrina, and how later on he was used and abused in prostitution as a teenager. He worked by day at a gas station, and by night he was forced into prostitution. He had been raped. This happened right there, in America, hidden away in a small town. There are people in powerful and respected positions who were his perpetrators. He told me his family would believe what they say over what Tom would say, even if he did go public with his story. It nearly brought me to tears, but we actually didn't have a lot of time to talk because we were about to go to an anti-trafficking training; and there were other people around (it wasn't really a private conversation). I was shocked at how matter-of-factly he spoke about these things to a stranger he had just met.

The astonishing news is that Tom has found a much better life. He was able to run away to another state in America and build a life of his own. At one point, after he had escaped and was suffering with depression from all of his dark past experiences, he cried out to God. “God, if you're real then why haven't you taken care of me!”

To his amazement, that very day he found some people who allowed him to live with them. They were Christians, and some of them were part of the broader organization that Tom is now involved in. Clearly this event has had a huge effect on his life. Here he was, telling me how he has come to Christ, changed his life around, and has grace even for his perpetrator. Here he was, full circle, working as a part of the new abolishionist movement, wanting to help others who might be trapped in similar situations as he had experienced. Clearly there is a lot of pain in Tom's story, and his healing isn't complete. He doesn't have it all figured out, but there was something about him that struck me besides his story. His face was radiant. He was passionate about God, and about the just cause he is working towards. The fact that he could freely share his story with a stranger is proof that he has an inner strength that some only dream about. Tom has something bigger than himself invested in the story he is choosing to live.

I sought the Lord, and he answered me and delivered me from all my fears. Those who look to him are radiant, and their faces shall never be ashamed.  -Psalm 34:4-5

GOD LOVES ALL HIS CREATURES

Tuesday, December 6^th, 2011

In my room at about 8:36 PM

This past week we had a problem with a mother cat sneaking into our house and building a home for three of her little ones. They would cry at night, and the mother would bring in rodents and birds (sometimes still living) for the her and her kittens to eat. After a few days their abode was stinking up the house. As no one has the time to care for the cats, and there aren't any animal humane societies nearby, the we had to think of a way to get rid of them.

What ended up happening was while the mother cat was out hunting one night, the others were able to catch the kittens. Then they traveled about a mile away to a park and let them go. Later that night I heard the mother cat crying. It's a sad story for sure, and the whole time it was unfolding I was reluctant to help and was trying to think of what else we could do. I felt awful about being a part of this trafficking of poor kittens, but of course I get more riled up when humans are trafficked. At least cats are programmed to live in the “wild.” They weren't newborns either, so I hope they do okay. When humans traffic other humans they take away a part of their own humanity in the process.

Still, when it comes to the “trafficked” cats, I am a little upset. It doesn't seem right taking a little one away from its parent, even for the sake of a better smelling house or a better night's sleep, I don't know. Before I left this morning, I listened as the community sang worship songs and Nepali Christmas songs. In between the singing I heard the mother cat crying. It was a rather heart wrenching moment, hearing people who had recently split up another creature's family, now praising God with all their hearts, while the mother cat cried for her kittens. Of course they had their reasons, and much worse things happens in the developing world all the time, but it just didn't seem right.

I also took the time to realize that none of us is right before God, that we have all done wrong, even if we have the best of intentions. I believe God knows this, and he loves us anyway. His love is strong enough to break through in moments like this, and reach us, even in our weak and sinful states. He longs to hear broken people like you and me praying to him, and giving him praise. He longs to see us seeking after him.

FINISHING UP

Monday, December 5^th, 2011

In my room at about 5:45PM

As I type this blog, my computer is losing power, and I cannot recharge it because the electricity has been out for hours. A jewelry store owner was robbed and killed in my neighborhood yesterday and a large portion of the city is holding a bandha, or strike, until the authorities go after the murderers. It's how “justice” gets moving and accomplished around here. Everyone strikes; sometimes even after the smallest incident. I was somewhat surprised that the public transportation was still going this morning, but as far as electricity goes, we have a problem. I don't know how much longer it will last.

I wonder what would happen if this system of striking were put into effect in my hometown of Reading, Pennsylvania. With all the violence there, at times it seems like there's a murder a day. I don't think it would work with that culture back home. It would probably make things worse, actually; it would lead to rioting and looting in the streets, and probably more murders. People seem to be more self-controlled here, but it's just a different culture and stage of “development” for each. Actually, in many ways one could say that Reading is currently in such a bad place economically and socially, that it is in a phase of decay, of undevelopment, or of dedevelopment, if I may even use the terms. Right before I left to come here to help in the development issues of Nepal, Reading was labeled the poorest city in America, taking into account the numbers of unemployed and numbers of students who have dropped out of high school. I am not trying to paint a bad picture of my hometown, it's really just the truth. Maybe I can be a part of the movement to help “redevelop” Reading when I return from Nepal. We will see.

You haven't heard from me the last several days because I have been finishing up all my school work. I finally finished my last paper the other day. I am so relieved. I'll be getting my degree in less than a month, finally, after over two years of hard work.

I have also been traveling a bit. I went to the Nuwocot District, just north of the Kathmandu Valley. In the more remote parts of this area girls between the ages of 12 and 16 get trafficked. It is the hotspot for traffickers. In fact, in some villages, there are men who complain that there aren't any more young women left to marry. They have all been trafficked – to Afghanistan, to India, to China, hell, some may end up in America for all I know. It's a sick world when parents willingly give up their young daughters, some of them actually knowing that they are headed for sex slavery. They give them up because of the money they immediately receive; they give them up also for the money they know will be wired to them down the road. All of the world's greatest evils seem to come back to money.

Glenda – the lady I traveled with to Nuwocot – is starting up an NGO called Abundant Life Generation. This organization will be going into the villages in Nuwocot and doing some community development, along with educational initiatives. She is hoping to train some of these at-risk women in some income generating work, like fabrics, while educating the girls and the rest of the villagers on the dangers of giving away the villages' daughters to those scheming and deceitful bags of scum called human traffickers. These men (and often times women) promise better lives for the girls only to keep them caged in slavery, sometimes literally. Glenda is hoping this work will empower these girls, and help to paint newer, brighter colors into Nuwocot's dark and tragic picture.

I went there with Glenda, Mary and Eli. Mary is an American woman who has spent most of her adult life in Nepal, but has recently split her time between Colorado Springs and Kathmandu. She knows the culture in and out, and she is really the first Westerner I have seen who knows the language so well. Eli is a young American who basically travels around the world on his own, and who has become Glenda's helper. He looks like some kind of radical with his big beard, but he is one of the friendliest guys I've met.

It was fascinating to watch Glenda's NGO being created before our very eyes. It seems like a complicated and painstakingly slow process. One of the things I have learned here is how to be the organizer, as I am the one from the West who can barely breathe without some kind of understandable order (those of you who know me might be surprised at this!). On the other hand, in order to get anything accomplished, there needs to be a great deal of flexibility.

On top of the school work and the traveling, I have been working to finish up the documents for Brian. I have them finished, but he might want some revisions, we'll see. It feels wonderful to be finishing up my work here. I can spend these last days just soaking in the culture, and making connections with the various organizations.

UPDATE: Later on that evening, after eating dinner and having my computer nearly break down on me, the electricity finally came back on. We will see how long it lasts.

FOOD

Monday, November 28^th, 2011

In my room, at 7:21 PM

The other day, as I left the house in the morning, I glanced down at the “pet” chicken I had seen clucking around outside the house for the past two months. She was looking for food on the ground, and I felt kinda sad for the lonesome hen. At least she was able to walk around, and not stuck in some pen. Last night we had chicken soup, and the hen wasn't around anymore. The pregnant woman in our community (who is due in one month) had a check-up and the doctor said she should be eating more foods that provide energy. I think she needed to be eating more food in general; daal bhat can only go so far (at least in my opinion!). So her husband made chicken soup to support his wife and unborn child.

When I get antsy for some comfort food – aka “junk food” – I go to the nearest corner store and buy what is called Kurkure Masala Munch. Basically it's Cheetos with masala flavor instead of cheese flavor. Very tasty. And the best part is they're healthy for you! As I was inhaling my bag of Kurkure, I looked down and noticed that the bag said “Share Pack,” as it was one of those extra large smaller bags. I thought it a rather interesting marketing ploy. In America, it probably would have said something to the effect of “EXTRA BIG BAG MEANS MORE FOR YOU!” I like the Share Packs for more reasons than that they fit my big fat American appetite. I think the Share Packs are fitting for the culture here.

I pass a fruit stand almost every day as I walk through town, and as I walk by, the smell of the fresh fruit harvest cuts through all the pollution and sewage/trash odors, and floods my nose with good things. Many a time I have walked all the way past the stand, then like one of those old Warner Bros. cartoons, the scent practically turns me around and floats me pleasantly back to the stand with my eyes wide and my mouth watering. The man who has this spot is pretty damn lucky. He's probably been able to capture a lot of customers like me, who are just innocently strolling by.

I bought some fresh strawberries from him yesterday at “Nepali price.” (Along with some apples, and oranges, etc). When I was back at the house popping the strawberries into my mouth at the speed of light, the though occurred to me that maybe I could share some of my “share pack” of strawberries with the little children who live in the house. I gave one to Unika, Jema, and Nancy. A half hour later, I was surprised to see little Nancy, who is only 6, still nursing that one little strawberry I gave her. People in the so-called “developing world” really know how to make something good last.

ROSHAN

Sunday, November 27^th, 2011

In my room, at 8:45 PM

Do you remember Roshan? The 16 year old I went to Everest with? (I want to call him a kid, but I can't really do that, he's too smart and grown up; but I can't exactly call him an adult either). I had seen him earlier in the day and he seemed depressed about something. He had told me he'd talk to me about it later. Well, I just got done talking with him.

He saw his mother today...the first time he had seen her in 15 years. He was 1 ½ years old when he saw her last; when she walked out on the family. Apparently now she has become a Christian. Maybe she is wanting to try to make things right. Roshan – who wants to be called “David” now that he's recently been baptized – went to his pastor's house this morning. His pastor's wife is the sister of Roshan's mother. His mother was there. He said it was very strange to see this woman there, who kind of looked like him. Then he asked his pastor who she was and his pastor told him. She wanted to give him a hug, but of course Roshan was surprised and upset and angry at the whole scene. He had recoiled a bit, then traveled home after 10 minutes or so of being with his mother for the first time in a decade and a half. That is why he was down when I had seen him earlier.

I am shocked that all this is happening so quickly to him...with his Dad kicking him out of the house a year ago because of his Christian faith, and now his mom coming back in his life after he's practically grown up. Roshan had told me before that he's never known the love of a mother. He told me again tonight. He told me some of the thoughts running through his head.

“Why? You didn't give me love or protection when I needed it most. I was just a baby on the floor, and I needed love. Why do you want to come see me now – now that I'm grown up? No!”

Hearing his story breaks my heart. I tried to help him out a bit. I told him how none of this was his fault, and that he shouldn't feel obligated to know what to do next. I told him to take time to pray about it. I told him that God, in a way, was both his Father and his Mother, that He has allowed this to happen, and that He somehow has a plan. I saw his face look down and the cell phone he was holding slip out of his hand, and then he said in his thick accent, “I don't know.” “I feel really down.”

I prayed for him out loud. Then I shared with him a verse that has meant a lot to me recently. Psalm 34:1 – 7, especially verses 4 and 5. His face seemed to brighten just a bit, until he was able to radiate a smile, that smile I have come to know and love so well. I hugged him, and then I came up here to go to write this. I'm gonna miss this guy, my younger brother, when I leave.

ODDS AND ENDS

Friday, November 25^th, 2011

At Higher Grounds Cafe in Jawalakhel section of Kathmandu, at 2:05PM

As my time here slowly begins to wind down (I have well under a month), I am trying to do as much as I can for the organization, tour a bit, and make connections with other organizations, even while finishing up all my classwork.

Brian wants me to write out case studies of some of the slum children I interviewed the other day. I also still have to finish the documents for the clients of Agape, the at-risk women and children.

I have been to Everest and Pokhara, and hopefully, in a week or so, I will get to travel all the way to the Tibet border to visit some Christian ministers that Brian knows. Yesterday I got to see Bhaktapur, a historic palace town just outside of Kathmandu, with a friend of a friend – an American – on Thanksgiving. She works in the field of international development. And so, when I wasn't hammering our tour guide with questions about Nepal's history, I was questioning her, about her work.

Just the other day I visited the offices of Next Generation Nepal, an organization that works to reunite trafficked children with their families. There is a book out now about how this organization was started and I am currently reading it. It was interesting to be reading about a character in the book one day, and then the next actually getting to meet him. The woman from the organization who I talked with is currently working there for almost a year. She was very friendly and we had a lot to discuss. I offered to help them with some of the crucial paperwork necessary for raising funds. We'll see what opens up.

Something fascinating and disturbing had happened earlier that day, at the restaurant where Rahul and I were eating breakfast. Rahul went outside and to the back to find a bathroom, but before he found the bathroom, a man came up from behind him and asked him if he wanted a girl. Rahul said no (correct answer!), but the man told him to come back on Saturday if he changed his mind. So, on the way to a meeting to discuss human trafficking, we were solicited to participate in the prostitution of girls who had most likely been trafficked themselves.

Before I leave Nepal, Brian wants me and several others to go to a “dance bar” to participate in outreach to women at risk who had been trafficked. I am not sure what this will look like, if I will have to play it undercover or what. Brian says that this kind of outreach actually works better when foreigners help because the owners think the foreigners have money (Well I know that's not the case for me, anyway, but I will try to help out to the best of my abilities!). I will remain in prayer about this.

RIDING A REFLECTION

Thursday, November 24^th, 2011

In my room, at 9:40 PM

Imagine yourself at a rock concert. You are in towards the front of the crowd, surrounded on all sides, and lost in “the pit.” You are so close together that you can smell the breath from the guy next to you and the hand of the pretty girl on the other side of you brushes yours inadvertantly...

The loud music comes on and startles you, and you bring your head up. It hits something hard above you and you realize then that it is past dusk, and you are in Nepal, and your head just hit the roof of a bus. You are standing there with everyone else, swaying to and fro to the song of the moving vehicle...

As the bus boy climbs out and calls out the destination points, some polluted air blows in from the door, and you actually welcome it because it provides some cool relief from everyone's warm breath suspended inside the bus. You look down to see more people getting on board. This can't be, you think to yourself; we're way past capacity. Everyone gets more smushed. You reach up for a bar to hold onto, and in the process you almost take out a kid standing in front of you. There's no place to put your hand so you awkwardly grab the bar right near the kid's hand at the last second before the bus brakes again and the mass lurches forward. He then kindly takes his hand off and presses it against the roof for leverage, so you can have a good grasp on the bar. You feel like you are in a strange yoga position, using muscles that you didn't know existed just to make sure you don't plow into the persons on any side of you. Apparently Nepali people like to play Twister when they ride the bus...

Some people finally get off and you collapse into a seat. You look out the window and notice that the power has gone out in this part of the city. You squint to make sure you can see where you are. The music blaring on the bus radio is a traditional Nepali love song. A man and a woman take turns singing their parts and there is a steady beat and a memorable melody playing over and over again. When you finally wake up from the trance the music has put you in, you realize you missed your stop, you are already 15 minutes out of the way. You get off the bus, cross the street and get on another bus to head back toward your abode.

“WEL-COME” TO HEAVEN ON EARTH

Sunday, November 20^th, 2011

In Pokhara, staying at Kapil's house, at 9:35 PM

I am in Pokhara, a city in Nepal known for its beauty, tourism, and cleanliness. I came here with Bibek yesterday. We are staying for just a few days, on a brief vacation away from Kathmandu.

Arriving here yesterday, phrases like “Heaven on earth,” and “Shangri-La” came to mind. This place is the opposite of Kathmandu in so many ways. The roads are paved, the sky is clear, and there isn't any dust or much noise pollution. The weather reminded me so much of springtime in Pennsylvania that I became inspired. I went to the roof, did some push-ups, and then I came back down and finally shaved off my Everest Beard. Then I got to take a nice, warm overdue shower.

Continued Monday morning, at 7:20 AM

That first night in Pokhara, Bibek and I went to a restaurant and I finally got to try the Everest beer with a rather large hot meal. The taste reminded me of a Heineken. We were the only customers for a while so we got to talk to our waiter. He said he works at least 15 hours a day, and seven days a week. I was startled by the amount of hours he works, but he said it's what he wants to do – to get into the restaurant business. He is Hindi, but he said he likes Christians and believes the Bible and that when he moved to Pokhara a few months ago, he couldn't find any Christian churches to attend. I was pleasantly surprised at his candidness, and before we left we gave him Pastor Kapil's number and prayed with him.

We will be here with Kapil at his house – which is both his school and living quarters – for two nights before leaving early tomorrow (Tuesday) morning. Kapil is a minister and a theology professor here at his school. We are staying in the only classroom, where beds were set up for us. Last night Bibek, me, Kapil and his wife Lily all sat around and drank chia and talked about relationships, theology, culture, and the histories of Nepal and America.

Continued, Monday evening at 6:49 PM

Today we toured Pokhara some more. We ended the day by going out on Phewa Lake in a rowboat. The taxi driver and the “tour guide” (he didn't speak much English) both got on with us, making the boat extra weighty. They didn't seem to know how to row correctly so I helped out. A lot. I got a pretty good work out pulling (yes, I was in the front of the boat) all four of us. Raju, the tour guide definitely helped by rowing in the back, but we kept on getting off course. It was great though, to be on the large lake in a boat, with the white peaks looking down on us.

Then yesterday, we were in Sarangkot (I think it's called that) – a large hill outside of Pokhara – where the paragliders were launching from, and I saw this girl. She was wearing a tee-shirt with a logo. Of all the things this logo could have been, I was startled to see “Phillies”! I immediately talked with her, and found out that she lived in Philly for several years before moving to Rhode Island. She is volunteering in Pokhara for a few weeks at a children's home. It's always great when you run into foreigners who aren't so foreign to your world.

My time in Pokhara has been relief from the dirty, loud, and somewhat stressful life in Kathmandu. It's the perfect getaway, and it ends tomorrow morning. It has been good to take a break from parts of Brian's somewhat forced theology. He spoke to the community the other night, and I felt a little uneasy. He was teaching on some kind of “end times” theology that's hard to explain, much less understand. I was a little irritated as he seemed to be shoving it in peoples' faces (even the kids) trying to have them memorize it. I know, however, that he has a good heart and of course he wasn't trying to do any damage. And he didn't do damage, as everyone was open and gracious, and willing to learn. Maybe I will speak to him about this. Not about his theology; that's the interpretation he chooses to believe. I might speak to him but about the way he teaches. Maybe I can encourage him (he did seem a little flustered that night).

Tonight, Bibek and I had a time of fellowship with Kapil, Lily, and some of their friends. I really appreciate their kindness to us. They have reinforced the child-like faith I see in the Nepali people. If I ever return to Xanadu...I mean, Pokhara, I have a good connection and new friends, in Kapil and Lily.

Phewa Lake at dusk in Pokhara

The view of the Annapurna Range from Sarangkot, just outside Pokhara.  The prominent triangular mountain, "Macchapuchre" or "Fish Tail" mountain, has never been summited because of its sacredness

Kapil and his wife Lily preparing an amazing meal

CHILD-LIKE FAITH

Tuesday, November 15^th, 2011

At the House, at 6:57 PM

Religion is a big part of Nepalese life. One is usually either a Hindu, a Buddhist, a Muslim, or a Christian. Most people are Hindu, or an interesting hybrid of Hinduism and Buddhism. I have been living in community with Christian Nepalese people. From what I have seen, their religion seems largely of the Pentecostal kind, a bit charismatic. But it's not as “crazy” as some of the other more charismatic church “brands” I have attended at occasional points in my life. It's sort of a tempered charisma. I wouldn't say it's tempered by a skepticism often seen in the States. I might say their charisma is tempered by their faith. It's very child-like. It's very genuine. After spending time in the States, where everything is questioned to death, it's refreshing to see faith through the eyes of these people. I'm not saying that the Nepalese Christians are without flaws. Sometimes, a good dose of questioning is needed. Sometimes the jumps they make in their spiritual reasoning seem a little too extreme for me. Overall however, seeing their faith has been encouraging to me.

Let me give an example of what I mean. Today, I attended a prayer meeting at a house in the city. There was a good mix of foreigners and Nepalese. Most of the people there were Christian. The point of this weekly prayer meeting is to pray as a community for those girls and children who are trafficked. Most of the people there are involved in some kind of work that helps to either rescue, rehabilitate, or prevent trafficking. Most were females too, which, as a man is sometimes a little awkward. Not that I don't feel welcomed (it's actually the opposite, the women there want more men to attend), it's just that being male there are different concerns and struggles sometimes. Of course I will never be able to understand the woman. She moves in mysterious ways to me. What I liked about the meeting is how open it is, how both sexes are necessary for a more complete story.

Anyway, when the people in the room started praying and singing there was a genuineness to it that was moving. Then some of them brought up prayer requests. One was about a 15 year old girl who had been forced to “marry” an 18 year old man, who promised her a better life. When he took her from her home and out of her village, he locked her in a room with a small window and would not let her out, despite her pleas to get out. She wanted to leave the man, who clearly was denying her basic rights. He was staying in a village in Nepal for a few days and told her he would soon take her to India for a better life. Apparently this man thought that being forced into prostitution was a “better life.” Why didn't he just force himself into prostitution then? Word somehow got out, and the courageous woman telling the story said she was able to go to the village, work with the police and the villagers, and they eventually rescued the girl and caught the perpetrator. He is now in jail awaiting some kind of judgment. He may get 22 years in prison, as long as the system is followed appropriately. Some of the other people there were talking about following up with the case. The jailed man promised the girl that if he got the chance he would kill both her and her family. Though she is now free and getting help, she still has moments of fear. We prayed for the girl. We actually prayed for her perpetrator too. There was another prayer request about 100 women who had been rescued from trafficking and prostitution, but had somehow been forced back into the work. This is no game. It's a faith I see that's alive in real and serious situations like these that makes the prayers of the Nepali Christian church bona fide.

I have to go now, I have to attend what has become a nightly ritual. Don't worry, I'm not going to go bow down to a statue. I'm just going to go have some chia with the guys.

But I might then consider praying to a Living God.

HALFWAY POINT

Wednesday, November 9^th, 2011

At the House, at 9:25 PM

So I went out for a drink (as in tea) with a fellow American tonight. I was hoping to be back at the house by dinner, but the conversation was good, and I arrived a little late. They saved me a plate of – you guessed it – daal bhat (soup and rice). This is what we eat for breakfast (or “brunch” as they say), lunch and dinner. It was cold. As I began eating the soup I thought to myself, this has a seafood taste to it...interesting. Then I looked down to take another spoonful and saw miniature eyes looking at me – mini fish – anchovies of some kind, with their tiny heads still attached.

I have gotten quite used to the way things are by now, even the grimier details, and I am okay with it. A shower once, maybe twice a week that happens as quickly as possible before the water pools on the floor and begins to seep over my flip flops (the Everest trip prepped me for that), the fact that pollution is a daily vitamin here, and the dirt that becomes both an insulator and a layer of protection against...well...dirt. When I think about such things I get frustrated. I have come up with a solution. Just don't think about it.

My fellow student in Nepali language arts is my small 2 year old friend named Unika, the one who calls me “Jake Uncle.” We are in the same situation because she is just learning to talk the Nepali language. I think she will be moving to the next grade sooner than I will though. She is something of an honors student while I am falling behind!

The past several days I have been busy putting together rough ideas for the streamlined document, and teaching English to the students at the Women's Center. I have also been spending a lot of time at the cafe because I had a huge test this week for school that I had to complete. It was a comprehensive test covering every subject studied for my degree. I completed it today – FINALLY – but I still have other projects and readings to do. It just never ends, does it?

Yesterday we went out into the streets again to look for some “street kids” to “minister” to. I had been out on these trips two other times and to my dismay we had not found any street children, and the afternoons had been spent taking long walks. We were preparing to turn around and walk a few miles back home again when we spied a few small dirty faces in the busy market place. Bibek, the street children minister leader, told me he had talked to them before and that they knew him. They came up to us and talked. We took some pictures and bought them some circle bread (basically a donut) and chia (milk tea). Then a stray dog appeared and I was surprised to see the children – who probably hadn't eaten anything all day – share some of their circle bread with the dog. I asked if the dog was their pet, and they said yes and that his name was Lucky. I'd say so, with the bits of the sweet bread lying at his feet.

THE SWING OF THINGS

Wednesday, November 2nd, 2011

At the House, at 7:00 PM

This week I have been trying hard to catch up on school work I missed while on Everest. I found a cafe with WiFi about 15 minutes walking distance from here and that will definitely help with getting school work sent.

I miss the old house with its cleaner bathrooms, better views, bigger rooms and more privacy. This new house is definitely better in it's proximity to everything though. The main office, the Women's Center, the grocery store, and the cafe are all closer now, as is every other necessary business. The Balku House (the Prayer House) is still about a half hour by bus but luckily I have the cafe now (although I will have to buy something every time I'm there, and the internet isn't 100 percent reliable even there!).

I have also been spending a few hours each day this week helping to teach English to some of the students at the Women's Center. This is where the women at risk come to learn and acquire new skills that will help them get better jobs. I have been using Roshan as an aid and translator help, and as usual he is very helpful. I have enjoyed these days teaching English. My two students have been older women, one who is Sherpa. I was surprised that some of the students here would be older than 35. One is 46 and the other is 50. Apparently they are now taking advantage of educational opportunities now that they weren't allowed to when they were younger. I applaud them for this. They are good students and are eager to learn. My teaching days back home have helped me adjust quickly here. Over the next few days I will begin to talk to them a little about my work in putting together forms for Agape. Brian wants a basic rough draft by early next week.

Last night I went to Roshan's pastor's house for dinner. This house (which is a meager lower level apartment with two bedrooms, a kitchen and a meeting room that serves as the sanctuary) is the same place I preached at a few weeks back. The pastor's wife prepared some daal bhat that was extra tasty and there was some good chicken meat too, which I think is hard to come by. One of his teenage daughters (Roshan's “sister”) played guitar and sang a worship song. I played a little too, while the talented pastor played along on his Nepali flute. The whole evening was charming and I quickly found that family to be filled with exceptionally friendly and genuine people. The whole place seemed to be drenched in God's love, and I'm not trying to be sappy here. There was clearly something unique about that family.

Of course not every experience is as pleasing as last night's dinner. Something I have struggled with here is the lack of organization. I've found that sometimes (or...most of the time?) this is how things are run in the developing world. Usually I would see myself as thriving in moments like these, but the lack of structure and organization has me grasping for straws. At home all I would do is attach myself to a particular way of structuring things that was already set up. Here I find myself having to organize organization! For as discombobulated as things can be back in the States, an American voice is whispering in my ear that it is grateful for the organization we have back in the US. I suppose this is a big part of development – just getting things put together on the ground.

I definitely wish things were more put together for me, and that my purpose was more solidified. It's like I am having to find new reasons every day to bring purpose. Sometimes it doesn't seem like much at all. Sometimes it has more to do with community than it does with any particular assignment I have to complete. Today, for instance, I spent the better part of an hour talking with the pregnant mother and helped to watch her 6 year old child and another little 2 ½ year old. The 2 ½ year old is living here with her mother. Her father left just after she was born. This particular baby – I'll call her Sanisha – has an innate sense that draws her to the males in the community. Today, she wouldn't let any of the female adults feed her spoonfuls of rice. She called out “Jake Uncle!” and I was the only one who she would allow to feed her. She of course is adorable, and I am finding myself in a questionable spot. I don't want to get too close to her because I will be leaving in a little over a month, another male figure come and gone from her life. I don't mind the kids though, or the community here, except when I realize that I am falling behind in my dreaded school work and that I'd better go do something more important, like finish an assignment.

Truth is I'd rather not write one more paper. I'd rather spend the next month allowing myself to be absorbed into the community as much as possible without having to worry about another reading assignment or test. I'd rather spend my time just teaching adults English, and hanging with Roshan and the guys, listening to their stories, and playing with the children and helping to feed Sanisha. That's not how things work though. I need to stay stuck in my room on my computer instead. Please forgive my venting, but it's a little hard to balance living in community, while completing a degree, while doing a development project, while missing home all at once.

EVEREST REFLECTIONS BACK IN KATHMANDU

Sunday, October 30^th, 2011

At the New House, at 10:05 AM

Things are back in full swing here at the community, after the trip to Everest. This morning after breakfast I helped pull water out of the well and helped with the dishes too. It reminded me of the “development” days of America, like a scene from Little House on the Prairie or something. Except this is a subtropical sort of prairie.

There is a baby crying outside. There always seems to be a baby crying somewhere, or a dog barking, or a bus honking a horn, or a motorcycle revving its engine, or music blaring. Sometimes all I want is a quiet place where I can sit and read and contemplate but that is hard to come by, especially during the day. I guess that's to be expected in a place like Kathmandu.

I have been thinking about my trip to Everest Base Camp. It was such an incredible experience. A curious thing happened to me as I got higher in altitude. My appetite went away. For those who know me well, this never happens. It probably had something to do with my altitude sickness. I couldn't really hold much food down, but I didn't feel like eating anyway. When we were finished with our Everest Expedition and were coming back down, at each village my appetite grew significantly. By the time we reached Kathmandu yesterday I felt downright ravenous!

Towards the end of the trek, in the villages at lower altitude, Roshan and I got the chance to be a part of another Nepali/Hindu festival called Tharai. I don't know if that is spelled right. As I write I cannot look it up because I don't have internet! Anyway, for this holiday kids and young adults go around to various houses singing what appears to be a type of carol. They may put on some music and dance too, either a traditional Nepali dance or a more modern style young people enjoy. The people in the houses they sing or dance in front of are expected to give some sort of small monetary donation. It seems to me like a combination of Christmas caroling and trick-or-treating at Halloween, except the reward is money! In the village of Monjo the likeable Roshan made friends with some of the local Sherpa people and both he and I went “caroling” with 4 or 5 other young people. I felt a little out of place because I was the oldest, but nobody cared. I was a foreigner anyway, and most people laughed at my participation appreciatively. To be singing for money in a small Sherpa village in the mountains at night, with the stars shining above and the cold mountain air below felt wonderful. We made about 1500 rupees, about 20 US dollars. Not bad for a couple hours having fun singing. The young people split it amongst themselves.

I loved those Sherpa people. I have tremendous respect for them. Their strength is insane! They carry gas canisters, huge baskets of food, people's gear, doors, rice, cement blocks, you name it – all on their backs. And they do it for miles and miles everyday, like literally 20 miles or more for some of them. I don't know about you, but if I walked marathons up and down a mountainside every day for a living, I probably wouldn't be living. I remember Roshan and I were on the trail and we were passed by a Sherpa girl, probably no more than 16 or 17. She had a backpack on that was probably filled with heavy things, and her pace was so quick. We played a game called “Keep Pace with the Sherpa Girl,” but she blew by us and was out of sight within a couple minutes.

Trekking in the Himalayas was a great time. Be that as it may, for some moments I couldn't help thinking of home, of backpacking on the various trails, one of my favorite past times. I was thinking of how beautiful it must be there now, with the leaves changing and falling. Sure we don't have huge mountains in Pennsylvania, but we do have some beautiful forested hills (that we call “mountains”). I just found out that it just snowed at least half a foot there! On Halloween weekend in October, before the leaves have even gone - that never happens! I am feeling nostalgic for home today, and I wish I was there to experience the October snow.

THE LONG TREK DOWN FROM THE MOUNTAIN

Wednesday, October 26^th, 2011

At The Moon Light Lodge in Namche Bazar at approximately 7:50 PM

Last night we were in Pheriche. Today, Roshan and I trekked from Pheriche all the way here to Namche. It took about 7 ½ hours. My guess is it was probably 16 or 17 miles at least. There was a lot of downhills and uphills, but we made it. We needed to get here because there's an ATM in Namche, and we ran all out this morning to pay for our stay in Pheriche. The woman owner at the Pheriche Resort who we call Didi (“older sister” respectfully) gave us a discount again and she was helpful to Roshan, gave him some noodle soup that he shared with me because all I could afford for both of us this morning was milk tea.

Right now it sounds like I'm missing out on a Sherpa birthday party or something upstairs. There's a lot of singing and stomping. They might just fall through the roof!

Back to Didi...she told Roshan he is like a son to her (remember she knows his Dad), and she gave him some biscuits for the road. Roshan told her he'd like to meet up with her in Kathmandu (where she has a house) in a couple months, after trekking season is finished and winter sets in for real. I suggested to Roshan that if I'm still around, I could “repay” her and take her to dinner in Kathmandu before I leave in December. This may happen. I wrote a note thanking her for her hospitality.

What struck me as fascinating was that she said Roshan was like her son...while Roshan's Dad denounced him as his own son. On the way out of Pheriche today Roshan told me that though he's never known the love of a mother (his own mother left the family shortly after he was born), he “takes love from everybody – sisters, brothers, leaders, friends, and Didi.” I again had visions of Roshan reconciling things with his Dad.

It was rough trekking today but we made it.

 Some of the Sherpa children we met in Pangboche on the way down 

(This little guy may summit Everest one day)

A Buddhist monk walks down the stairs at the Tengboche Monastery

After over 7 hours of hiking, we arrived at Namche, where there was an ATM!
 

THE EXPEDITION TO EVEREST

Tuesday, October 25^th, 2011

At Pheriche Resort (again) in Pheriche at 7:00 PM

Well, we did it. The last couple days have been a blur. Not a whole lot of time to think, just to trek to higher elevation and then get down as quickly as possible. Yesterday – the big day – was definitely rough. I woke up early gasping for air, and I felt my body adjusting to the altitude. I'd take several small gasps, until it was enough and my body would relax...until it started gasping again. This all happened around 3 or 4 in the morning – probably 3:30ish – and I wasn't able to get back to a decent sleep again until about 5. I woke up at approximately 6:15, already 15 minutes later than planned, but I thought it was good that my body was finally able to rest again (for an hour). Then it was up and trekking to Gorak Shep without even brushing my teeth or rinsing off my face. I wanted to get the hell out of Loboche quickly. It was a dirty mess. Plus we had a mountain to conquer!

We made it to Gorak Shep – the last Sherpa hamlet and piece of civilization before the crazy high peaks – but we couldn't find a room in any of the lodges even though we got there before 10:30 AM. We had to opt for the dining room at the Yeti Lodge. That was fine by me because at least we had a place to lay our heads. I was feeling a little light-headed and sick, and tired, but I knew this was our moment. I probably had “summit fever” as well, but I took two Diamox (altitude sickness pills – I had taken one earlier in the day), we left our bags at the lodge, and we were off for Everest Base Camp (a trek to EBC and back to Gorak Shep is about 5 hours). I felt pretty sick the whole time, with my head pounding. Maybe I should have turned back, but I couldn't. We kept going, following in the shadows of another fairly large group. We made it at approximately 1:30 PM. The weather couldn't have been more perfect – not a cloud in the sky. We took some pics and a quick video or two, then we began the trek back. We were pretty exhausted and I still felt sick. The whole EBC experience was rather anticlimactic, considering my altitude sickness, but I'm definitely glad I did it.

Altitude sickness reminds me of a bad hangover. I wish there was a nicer way to put it. On the way back to Gorak Shep I had a pounding headache. I got sick twice, throwing up the Snickers Bar that was our reward for making it to Base Camp. I felt significantly better after that. Roshan was very helpful and cheerful too. He gave me his trekking pole so I had two instead of one. That helped tremendously. When we made it back to the lodge, we sat for dinner and talked with some of the other climbers and hikers. I still didn't feel all that well and I couldn't eat much. We were going to have to wait until everyone went to bed, to sleep in the dining room.

I was exhausted. All I needed was a room with a bed and I had to wait. Eventually I laid down on the bench there, but sleep was hard to find because everyone was talking and having a good time. I had met and talked with several people – this Everest Base Camp is definitely an international event. I've met a Hungarian, a Czech Republican, some Swiss and German folk, some Japanese women, a Singaporean, some people from the UK, a few Israelis, and some French guys. That verse – Micah 4:1-2 seems to hold meaning, although not all of these people were here to “worship” God. They got a great glimpse of his creation though, that's for sure. We all did.

If I'd do it again I would take at least one day for acclimatizing below 4500 meters, as is suggested. Between 4500 and 5000 things started going south for me, but we were on a time limit and I figured the times sleeping at the various villages were enough. I mean, I was okay, nothing terrible happened, I just got a little sick. I tell you though, when all was said and done I was glad to come down a little ways from the rocky heights.

Roshan and I ended up sleeping in a tent outside the Yeti Lodge. This was the last thing I wanted to do, but it actually wasn't so bad. We were given mats and blankets and pillows inside a double walled tent, plus we could go to bed right away, and not have to wait for the others. I was camping out on top of the world. I think it was fitting because I love camping out back home, and here I was in a tent at the foot of Everest. I woke up from my 12 hour slumber at 3:15AM to go to the bathroom. I didn't want to do it but I was glad and grateful when I stepped outside and saw all the stars and walls of mountains on every side. Absolutely spectacular.

This morning, October 25^th, we got up, had a cup of milk tea and headed to Kala Patthar, a steep high group of rocks, several hundred feet and meters above Base Camp, with great views of Everest. I was feeling much better after about 12 hours of rest, and I knew I'd regret it if I didn't go up, especially now that I was feeling well. Roshan, who had been excited about seeing the views from Kala Patthar the day before wasn't so into it this morning on the way up. He told me he was having a hard time breathing. I made sure to take care of him, and when he got to talk to his new “girlfriend” on my cell on the way up, I think his spirits lightened and he was strengthened. The views were incredible. I made sure to take several pics and a video or two on my camera. The whole thing took about 4 hours. We then left Gorak Shep at approximately 1 pm for Pheriche, where we are now. It was a rather long trek back here, but it was made easier because we were mostly going downhill. We came to the same place we stayed at two nights ago, because strangely enough, the owner knows Roshan's Dad, and we got a discount both times. This place is much nicer and cleaner than the higher villages. We are having to count our rupees because we won't get to another ATM until we reach Namche again, which will hopefully be tomorrow but that's going to be a long 7 hour trek. We should be okay I think.

It occurred to me, while trekking down today that it would be great to see Roshan and his Dad “reconciled” in a sense. We were talking about it, and about how God had other plans for Roshan when he was kicked out of his father's house 6 months ago for being a Christian and not a Hindu. Roshan said if that hadn't happened, he wouldn't be seeing Everest with me on this awesome trekking trip. I agreed and then thought about how God is about making stale relationships between people right again, and I suggested this to Roshan. He thought this was a good idea. He said he'd take me to meet his father in Kathmandu one day. If any kind of reconciliation between Roshan and his dad is possible (which it is of course) I would like to be of any help possible. If I can be of help, great! If not, then I won't interfere. I ask God for insight into this situation. For now, I need sleep; we have a long journey ahead! 

 One of the first views of Everest (it's actually the tiny one in the middle, in the distance)

 

There is a famous picture of Sir Edmund Hillary and Tenzing Norgay on Everest.  This is not it.

(Though it is a lame attempt at recreating it - maybe the tourists in the background give it away)

 Something I saw.

Our tent

Something else I saw (a view of Mount Everest from Kala Patthar)

Me and the mountains.  Everest is on the left. Nuptse is on the right.