Warning: I use swear words in my blogs, just keeping it real, folks
So what’s it like living in Nepal for 2 months? First off, there is electricity for only 4 to 12 hours a day. I always wondered how people got by on just candles back in the day. It’s not so bad honestly, and you bring a headlamp to get by when you’re not working with candles. I keep finding myself wandering out of an area without candles and realizing that it’s pitch black. The power is often on at 3 am or some other really convenient time that I can’t quite understand. I find myself working on my blog by candlelight, which I find pretty ironic… As ironic as people carrying huge buckets of water on their shoulders and then stopping to answer their cell phone.
Western standards of cleanliness don’t apply here; I’m far from a germaphobe but I find myself amazed at the amount of dirt and grime on everything. The people that live here don’t notice it because it’s how they live. I find myself trying to just be cool and ignore the grime, but I have to admit there have been a few days where I struggle. Walking into the clinic kitchen and seeing Urmila preparing lunch on the floor is something you just can’t prepare your mind for. I think to myself, okay, that’s how they do it here and look they’re all fine. Every time there’s something just a little bit crunchy in my lunch I have to cringe and tell myself it’s just an un-ground piece of pepper. Right. If you’re the kind of person that walks around with hand sanitizer in their purse never, ever, come here. You will have a complete meltdown, or maybe you should come and get over it.
Water is scarce so we put a bucket under the tap while we wait for the water to be heated by the solar panels; this water is then used to water plants and to do your laundry. Being here has made me realize that while I’ve fancied myself a conservationist I have a lot to learn. The clinic reuses water bottles until they start to stink. The sponges used in the kitchen for cleaning don’t get thrown out at the first sign of wear. There is no washing machine or dryer so it’s all done by hand. All food scraps are saved in the kitchen in a bucket for compost. I keep putting a lid on the bucket because it attracts flies and Uma (the cleaning lady) keeps removing it. I mention this to Nicky and she says that the concept of keeping the flies out of something has probably never occurred to Uma before. This concept has never occurred to me before.
Of course there’s no refrigerator. There’s running water in the clinic but it has to be pumped out of the ground into two large containers on the roof almost daily. If you forget to pump then it’s possible that you go to the sink to wash a dish and no water comes out. This happened for the first time on one of the two days I had where I was ridiculously homesick and fairly irritable. Okay, I think, so the waters not coming out, great. There’s no electricity so we can’t pump water until it comes back.
“Fuck, really? Of course there’s no water, and there’s no electricity,” I sarcastically say under my breath but it’s noticed by Sonya. Sonya, one of the interpreters and students, forgot to turn on the pump so tells me that she’s only human and I realize I am over reacting. Just add it to the list of things I have to get used to here.
Many local buildings don’t have any kind of running water; so the locals go to a community fountain and fill up there. Prajwal, one of the interpreters and my student, tells me that people spend hours waiting to get water sometimes. As I start to realize what this means I begin to feel less inclined to judge the dirt on everything. If you don’t have running water, it’s so much harder to do laundry and take a shower.
Most of the streets aren’t paved in the village so every truck that goes by kicks up a dirt storm. I bought a cuter face mask (if there is a thing) than the Home Depot style ventilator masks I brought my first day here. Even though many people walk around with them on, I still feel like some kind of prissy Westerner every time I have to put it over my face to protect from all the dirt and smog from the ancient vehicles.
The clinic I live in is actually quite new and therefore much nicer than most of the buildings in the area. You can buy milk every morning from the local restaurant owned by Lilla Didi. She’s a smiley, happy loving person that welcomed me immediately. She knows a few English words and says things like “Amy, beauty,” “welcome,” and “no.” She’s a shining example of the friendly people of Nepal. Lilla Didi (Didi means sister) says that she loves all the volunteers so much and she is so sad when they leave.
I’ve taken to walking around Chapagaon and into the neighboring Newari village at dusk after I am done working. It’s practically right out of a postcard with the beautiful old buildings, people in colorful clothes, chickens, goats, and straw everywhere.
Everywhere I go people stare at me. Apparently it’s not rude to stare in Nepal, especially at random white chicks with red hair walking around your neighborhood. I will be happy to be back home walking down the street in complete anonymity. The people here cannot afford cameras and they are completely amused by pictures of themselves. I walk around and when I want to take a picture I hold up the camera and say “okay?” They usually don’t answer but I take the picture anyway and then I hold the camera up, “you want to see?” They always smile or laugh at the picture. The little kids sometimes fight to be in them. A lot of the kids here learn English and sometimes they follow me and try out the words they know. Because I work at the clinic they call me doctor. I can’t lie; I really like how it sounds.