A Day in the Life

For me, Sunday, January 19 was nothing out of the ordinary, so it makes for a pretty good illustration of my average day in Shreegaun.

I awoke at 7:01 to the thin ray of sunlight that streams through the window and hits my face at around this same time each morning. The cold air discouraged me from leaving my warm bed, but remembering that I’d resolved to call my grandmother, I darted to my desk for my phone. I dialed her number and had a very nice but short chat (she always keeps them brief, as if she’s afraid she’s taking up too much of my time. But I’m never in a rush to finish talking with you, Omi!). Still in bed, I reached for my computer and resumed reading an electronic version of H.G. Wells’ The Time Machine. At 7:52, my host brother’s wife appeared in the doorway with a piece of freshly cooked roti and a cup of steaming hot milk. A few minutes later my cell phone rang, another Peace Corps volunteer calling to check in and discuss meeting up in a few days. After coming to a good pausing place in my book, I finally built up the motivation to move from my bed to my desk. I checked my calendar and set to updating the categorized English-Nepali dictionary, which I’ve been making to aid in my day-to-day conversations. Just before 9AM, my host mother brought me my morning milk tea. Then my sister instructed me to watch our puppy, Rocky, who promptly pooped in front of my door. Nevertheless, I played with him for a few minutes. Having finished my tea, I headed outside to use the bathroom, which consists of a hole in the ground and a bucket of water in a little concrete cubicle. Next I checked on my garden, pleased to see the potatoes sprouts thriving and the frail tendrils of radishes just beginning to appear.

I worked on my dictionary until 9:40, when the sun had burned off enough mist to make a shower tolerable. Grabbing my bucket and a plastic container, I made my way to the concrete well just beyond our neighbors’ home. After hauling up three jugs of water, I stripped down to my boxers and braved the cool air and the lukewarm water that provided some relief. Just then, a passing taxi broke down on the road nearby. Its occupants exited the jeep to stretch their legs, glancing none too subtly at the soapy white guy in his underwear sixty feet away. I hurriedly washed and toweled off, scurrying back into my warmer room for some dry clothes. Shortly after dressing, I was called to breakfast: steamed rice, lentil curry, cauliflower and potato curry, and spicy tomato chutney; heavy on the cilantro—my favorite twice-a-day meal (but really, I love it. I asked for more of everything). I brushed my teeth, grabbed my bag, filled my water bottle from the filter, said goodbye to my family, and strode down the path to the health center.

I arrived forty-two minutes after the center’s 10AM opening time, but was the fourth of the ten or fifteen staff scheduled to work that day (it’s often hard to tell who’s working a shift and who’s just stopping in). Greeting each person with a “Namaste” and settling down in a plastic lawn chair, I began chatting with the social counselor and a health worker. Now the sun shined warmly and the air was less brisk. Eagles circled over the nearby forest. After about an hour of sitting, one of the female health volunteers arrived. She had invited me to her mothers’ group meeting two days before, but as I’d been making my way to the meeting I met another female health volunteer, who erroneously told me the meeting was another day. I now apologized to the female health volunteer for the mix-up, promising I’d come the following month. Together, we walked to the village development committee office in the center of town for the monthly women’s cooperative meeting. On the way, we stopped at a woman’s house, where I spent some time admiring their kitchen garden in the backyard. The homeowner, the secretary of the women’s cooperative, asked me if I might teach her some of the techniques I’d used in my own garden. I said sure and asked her about her farmers’ group, and together we set off towards the meeting place.

Three hours later, the women’s meeting still hadn’t started. A small chorus of hungry goats bleated impatiently for their midday meal. I began feeling sunburnt. Sitting with a few of the women, I fielded questions about American weather, geography, food, and more. Soon we got talking about my work, and inevitably the subject of gender inequality came up. Absorbed in what I was saying, a mother neglected to watch her two-year old daughter, who fell the short distance from the building’s raised concrete floor onto the rocks below, and promptly burst into tears. Eventually, the women got so tired of waiting for the committee to finish its business (accounting and discussing) that they left for home. Still, I managed to convince about twelve of them to stay for a short discussion. I asked about women’s major problems and needs in the community, the foremost of which they said were irrigation, health, and unemployment. As I probed deeper into their thoughts on the specifics, causes, and potential solutions, they became more vocal, engaged, and earnest. We hashed out a few ideas for potential projects. One of them invited me to visit her home the following day. Although I hadn’t been able to get the entire group’s input, I felt like it was a success. I left with a better understanding of their perception of the problems, and they with a better conception of how I might be of assistance.

Now it was around 3:45PM, and I went to the neighboring bazaar to kill time before volleyball practice. The owners of the electronics store waved me over, and we got talking about the differences between Nepali and American education and employment opportunities. As we chatted, boys and girls emerged in their crisp sky blue uniforms from the government school. A herd of cattle passed and I watched as a bull mounted one of the females, and she, unenthused, attempted to shake him by running ahead while he clung to her back. Over time, it became very clear that one of shop owners, who had studied education, was desperate for a job, as he kept asking that I ask my boss whether there were any openings in the Peace Corps. Luckily, at 4:30 some girls showed up with a bag of volleyballs, which I used as an excuse to take my leave.

I removed my sweater and slacks to play in the t-shirt and shorts I had on underneath. After about an hour of warming up, the coach called the girls over to conduct some sort of high jump, while the less disciplined boys took over the net. Just then my phone rang—another Peace Corps volunteer calling to catch up. As it was growing dark, the coach concluded the practice and we set out for our homes. I made my way back through the bazar, kids shouting “hi,” “Namaste,” “how are you,” and “see you tomorrow” as I passed.

After a long phone conversation with my friend, I was called to dinner. At the same time, my health center’s new doctor, who that very day had moved into a room in my neighbors’ house, appeared. Fluent in English, he studied medicine in Bangladesh and spent the last year working in a hospital in the district capital of Dang. Over dinner (the exact same as I ate in the morning, but equally delicious; I asked for seconds again) and then over the glowing embers of a dying fire, we discussed medicine, travel, and sports. He asked me to explain the concept of “strikes” in baseball, and then retired to his room for the night. Then I wrote this post, turned out the light, and promptly fell asleep, contemplating the similarities and differences tomorrow will bring.