Traveling in a 4-wheel drive vehicle (bearing an intriguing sticker “No arms on board. Humanitarian mission”) Anish, his staffer Bijaya, Janella and I head into the foothills of the Himalayas. We’re visiting two villages where ELI volunteers help rebuild schools devastated in the 2015 earthquake.
The drive lasts a good 4-5 hours and takes us on vividly orange dirt roads flanked by lush hillsides, rice paddies and waterfalls. The rainy season has just ended, so the roads are often difficult to pass. At one point, the car gets stuck in deep clay-like mud and we all get out to push.
It’s nightfall by the time we arrive at the first village, and we walk along a narrow, slippery trail with the light from our cell phones as the only illumination. ELI’ers, if you come here, bring a flashlight. Also, if you’re here during or just after the rainy season, bring trail shoes or hiking boots! Ours are encased in muck by the time we reach our destination, the family home of the village school principal.
The home is both rustic and welcoming. There is some electricity - each room has light - and there is a wide front porch on which we all spend most of our time, but the kitchen is traditional, with a dirt floor and cooking that’s often done over an open fire. An extended family lives here: the school principal, his wife, beautiful baby son, his in-laws and elderly aunt.
As everywhere in Nepal, we’re graciously welcomed with tea and a dinner served in the kitchen. We sit on the tightly packed dirt floor, and eat with our hands, as is the custom here. (Though you can have a fork if you ask.) Anish shows me how: you make a ball of rice and dahl, place it on the inside tips of the index, middle and ring fingers, and gently nudge it with your thumb so that it rolls neatly straight into the mouth. Once you get the hang of it, it’s an ingenious way to eat.
When it’s time to go to bed, Janella, Bijaya and I share a room with plank beds; Anish and our driver have their own. We’re right next to a large chicken coop, and the sounds of the birds’ rustling and cooing through the night is oddly comforting and mesmerising.
The next morning, both Janella and I gasp when sunlight finally lets us see where we are. The house is perched on a steep hillside, surrounded by both tropical and coniferous trees, with broad views of the nearby hills. We instantly understand why ELI’ers fall in love with the village projects. It’s a bit like glamping in paradise, albeit with very rustic bathroom accommodations (Squat toilets, and ELI’ers should bring their own toilet paper).
We wash up and clear off our breakfast dishes in stream water piped in on the side of the house, then hike up the hill to see the school rebuilt last year with the help of ELI volunteers.
The project is impressive: the school has three buildings, one of them a computer lab built and financed thanks to a donation from a past ELI’er. (Yes, there’s internet access, though often capricious.) A generous American woman’s bequest means this small mountain village is now connected to the world, and area schoolchildren can learn crucial computer skills that enhance their education and offer opportunities far beyond this lovely but remote hamlet.
We’re similarly impressed when we visit another village that hosts ELI volunteers. Here, a group of Spaniards helped built a school library and reading room that’s become a local hang out. The earthquake’s damage is visible everywhere, but thanks to volunteers’ time and generosity, local children in these impoverished areas have a safe place to read.
I’m moved and inspired. Spending just one night here has given me an invaluable insight into the lives of Nepalese villagers. Imagine spending a couple of weeks, or a month! Getting to know these warm, gentle people, playing with their babies, helping to cook their hearty, delicious meals.
And then getting to work, helping to create something lasting for communities that ask so little, but have even less.
ELI’ers, you’re amazing, and you’re making a huge difference in the foothills of the Himalayas. Travel with a purpose, indeed.
No comments:
Post a Comment