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.