Friends, Community, Family: Uste

For me, Sunday was the most difficult day yet. In the morning, one volunteer received news that a close friend had died; another learned that her aunt had passed away. Dealing with death from this distance and isolation seems extremely hard and is something that many of us will likely experience over the next two years. That afternoon, our first volunteer announced that she would be leaving us. She was struggling with adjusting and with homesickness; on a happier note, she is returning to the states to be married. Many cried to see her go, and it upset us more than we expected. Her departure made us realize that though we’ve known one other for just three weeks, we’ve already become very invested in one another. Ironically, that afternoon we had a session on volunteer resiliency. One of its themes was that to endure the next two years, we will need one other.

The following day, the volunteer living next to me moved into the house of our departed volunteer (which makes sense, given that since living next door she has acquired a sinus infection, lice, and fleas), but her relocation has left our neighbors upset and ashamed. News travels fast in the community, and it is not always accurate. For example, a few days ago, one of the volunteers told her family that she had been drinking in Chautara. The next day, her family told the LCF (language and cultural facilitator) that she had been so drunk that she could barely stand. This was simply not true, as the LCF and I had walked home with her from Chautara, and she had been fine (in actuality, she had tripped on a stool while rushing to get water after eating a hot pepper, which her family took for drunkenness). On another occasion, a volunteer commented to a community member that her family all seemed to share one toothbrush. When she returned home that evening, she noted a bunch of new toothbrushes in a cup by the water tap.

Part of the reason for this gossip is the community’s interrelatedness, which has proven quite a challenge to sort out. Nepalis have a very inclusive attitude towards family: elderly acquaintances are introduced as kaakaa (uncle) or hajur baa (grandfather); strangers may be called didi (big sister) and young girls bahini (little sister). This makes identifying actual nuclear families tricky. It seems like every day we learn of a new relation that we had not previously realized. On day three, I learned that our next-door neighbors are my father’s brother’s family. A few days later, I discovered that his mother (and therefore my grandmother) lives with them upstairs. His aunt up the road is hosting our LCF; there are volunteers staying with both of her two sons and one of her daughters. Nepalis have a saying that they seem to take quite seriously: “may your sons populate the hills.”

By the way, uste is Nepali for “same.”

Despite (or perhaps because) so many family members live in such close proximity to one another, there seems to be considerable drama in the community. This came to our attention during the first week, when the neighboring volunteer and I noted that our families completely ignore each other. My father’s younger brother (the father in the house next door), who is a police officer in Kathmandu, has only been home once so far, but I did not observe any interaction between the two siblings. My father doesn’t speak to his mother either, not even acknowledging her when she comes outside on occasion.  Though the most convenient path to their house is across our porch, our neighbors always walk the long way around. Interestingly, we keep our house, barn, kitchen (which is separate from the house) and even the bathroom (also separate) locked when they are not in use. We’ve asked our LCF about these peculiarities, but she has only given vague, noncommittal answers about property inheritance and family hierarchy. Yesterday I asked my host parents whether they like the neighbors, to which my father responded, “Yes, they’re my brother and mother.” Hopefully during Deshain, the upcoming Hindu festival in which many family members return home, I’ll get to press the issue a little more. I’d like to get to the bottom of this family feud and maybe lend a hand in helping them to sort it out.

Aside from this little side-drama, I have a lovely family. My aamaa (mother) and bubaa (father) are in their mid-fifties: they always call me baabu, which means baby boy. They seem to work hard during the day, making tea, cooking meals, cutting grass for our many livestock, tending the fields, fetching water, smearing cow dung on our house (more on this another time), and doing other chores that I do not yet understand with my limited Nepali. As is typical in Nepal, my aamaa seems to have more on her plate than my bubaa (more on gender roles another time as well). Both (but my aamaa especially) are extremely gracious hosts, always offering tea and fruit to visitors. I also live with my dai (older brother), who is 24 years old and extremely quiet (he doesn’t speak to me except to offer me tea). My LCF has informed me that he suffers from depression and is somewhat ostracized by the community. Interestingly, all three of my family members seem to be addicted to tobacco: my aamaa smokes about half a pack a day, while my bubaa and dai dip pretty regularly. At least they’re all pretty good about brushing their teeth.

I also have an older brother and sister whom I haven’t yet met (they live in Kathmandu, and I’ll meet them during Desai) and a 21-year-old sister who has stayed here a few times. She is very outgoing and sarcastic, speaks English quite well, and has an adorable five-month-old daughter (my banji). Finally, the volunteer who stayed with the family last year will also be visiting for Desai. Like me, they consider him a full family member. He and I have spoken a few times, and I’m curious to hear more stories from his months here.