Sunday, June 22, 2014

He's Leaving Home

On Sunday, I said goodbye to my closest Nepali friend. He, like my closest friend before him, is leaving the country to seek work outside Nepal. In my village, around a quarter of males over eighteen are currently living abroad. On average, half of a household’s annual income in my village comes from remittances. This relatively recent, rising trend is threatening the sanctity of the Nepali family and stifling the country’s potential development.

The traditional Nepali family is samyukta (joined), with several generations living in the same home or village. In rural areas, these familial ties create a strong sense of community that is readily apparent in times of joy (e.g. weddings, festivals), trial (illness, death) and many other aspects of daily life. Increasingly, however, families are breaking apart as the men leave home for work abroad.

For Nepalis, the holy grail of foreign countries is the United States. I’ve been asked dozens of times whether I might bring someone back to the states with me—some Nepalis have even offered to work for my family as servants. Each year, a few thousand Nepalis (such as my host sister) are awarded a direct visa through a lottery. Some Nepalis tell me of relatives who’ve entered the U.S. illegally through Mexico. With everyone knowing someone who has emigrated to America, many think that the U.S. is full of Nepalis. I can’t even count the number of times someone has encouraged me to continue speaking the language when I return to the states and encounter Nepalis on the street (as if it would be perfectly normal to start speaking a foreign language to a complete stranger). In addition, geographical knowledge tends to be pretty poor. My host family first told me that my host sisters live in New York; a few weeks later, they revised this to Michigan. In actuality, my sisters live in Texas. In addition, many people find it difficult to grasp the U.S.’s comparably enormous size and population (Nepal is the size of Tennessee and has a population of 30 million). Yesterday, for example, a man asked me if I had had ever met an American woman who had once been his English teacher. Only by giving travel times or distances do people (with widened eyes) realize the sheer immensity of the United States.

With the U.S.’s tight immigration policies, however, most Nepalis have to settle for going abroad elsewhere. Men who opt out will typically spend two or three years working in countries such as Qatar, United Arab Emirates, Malaysia, or India. For study, Australia and the United Kingdom are popular destinations.

The process to leave Nepal is often lengthy and expensive. Families may have to pay middlemen and bribe officials to obtain the requisite papers, forcing them to take out high-interest loans which, over time, will be repaid with a portion of the earnings from overseas. Those with formal schooling and technical skills may find decent white-collar work, but many find themselves in terrible conditions working in factories, construction, and other unskilled labor. The international news is replete with stories of Nepali men dying while working abroad. By American standards, the pay is poor (just a few thousand dollars a year), but for a Nepali family living on a less than $1000 a year, the benefits often outweigh the downsides.

Most men do earn a better income abroad, using the remittances to send their children to better schools. But without local career opportunities, I fear that in a fear years the thousands of Nepali children with remittance-funded educations will find themselves in the same place as their fathers—underemployed. They, too, will be forced to seek opportunities abroad. Furthermore, financial support from afar is not an adequate substitute for a father’s presence in the home. Then again, the paternal presence may not be missed, as many Nepali men play only a marginal role in their children’s upbringing. Indeed, the lack of positive male role models reinforces male entitlement and laziness that pervades village life. There are exceptions of course, but after graduating from high school many youth (particularly males) become little more than local loiterers. Seeing little to do in the village, they spend their days playing cards, drinking alcohol, and searching for a way out. For them, working abroad means travel, money, and something to do.


It saddens me to see people my age leaving Nepal, like rats abandoning a sinking ship. Certainly, a large cause of emigration is structural—there aren’t enough decent paying jobs in Nepal—but another is attitudinal. Many lament that the country is “naramro” (bad), blaming societal issues on government gridlock and corruption. While Nepal still has a ways to go politically, in my view the country is developing at a reasonable rate and has a bright future ahead. There is so much that these educated, progressive youths could do to hasten the process—as teachers, entrepreneurs, government officials, and even farmers. Those with creativity and motivation have an opportunity to make a successful life in Nepal—if only they can cast off the fatalism typical of generations past and take charge of their future. It will be considerably more difficult for Nepal to advance on the road of development so long as there is a slow, steady leak in the tires.

Read more below:

Wednesday, June 4, 2014

Back and Forth, Up and Down, Round and Around

I’ve been remiss at posting these last couple of months. On the one hand, I haven’t had the time to devote to recording my experiences and reflections. I’ve been relatively busy—building smokeless stoves at neighbors’ homes, delivering nutrition trainings to mothers and pregnant women, preparing to construct plastic houses with a few farmers before the monsoon rains arrive, and attending various community meetings and functions.

On the other hand, I find I have little to report. For one, my village is currently in a sort of high heat hibernation. Without air conditioning or electric fans, the dry, stagnant heat (over 100 degrees most days) is virtually inescapable—what else is there to do but sleep? At least, that’s the attitude of many villagers. Some days, I too find that I only have enough energy to sit at home and read.

In addition, living in a rural village in Nepal is becoming increasingly habitual. The initial, striking novelties of Nepali culture have largely faded, such that I find little surprising or remarkable from day to day. I suppose this is a good sign, as it indicates that I’m well integrated into Nepali society. But it also leaves me with little material to write about.

I’ve been away from my village for the past 16 days, during which time I’ve spent (no joke) 61 hours on buses. First I traveled to Kathmandu for a meeting of Peace Corps Nepal’s Peer Support and Diversity Network (PSDN), of which I am a newly minted member. We discussed our role as providers of emotional support to volunteers and had a great workshop on active listening. The meeting aside, it was nice to go out in the city and to eat something other than daal bhaat for a few days (think falafel, burritos, pasta, and pastries).






Working with women to build a cookstove that reduces smoke, cooking time, and fuel.




A "game" I play with mothers and pregnant women to test their knowledge of basic food groups. They typically don't do very well.

Next, we headed to Bhairawa (the second hottest city in Nepal, as everyone in my village informed me before I left) for a Peace Corps Project Design and Management training. On the way there, I tried to buy some lychee from a street seller, only to watch the guy run off with my 100 rupees. I bought another bag from another seller, but not before hearing several lectures from my fellow Nepali passengers about how to  conduct a transaction without getting robbed (this is the sort of Nepali “helpfulness” that I could do without). Unrelatedly, I got deathly ill just before we arrived in Bhairawa and spent much of the next two days between the bed and the bathroom. All told, I lost 5 pounds from what appeared to be an amoebic parasite, which a few pills made all better. Bhairawa proved to be an underwhelming city, although I did manage to find some dog food for my family’s dog Rocky, who (like me) has no choice but to eat daal bhaat twice a day.


Four days of project planning with our community counterparts proved useful but exhausting, and I think we were all ready to go when the conference came to a close. We did, however, get to view our welcome video to the future Group 201 volunteers (who are coming in just 3 months!). Now you too can meet all the lovely volunteers from Nepal Group 200 without even coming to Nepal. Props to Aerin for putting the whole thing together.

After the conference, 18 of us hopped a bus to Butwal to receive a training on Moringa trees. Also known as the “tree of life” and “miracle tree,” these fast-growing, native-to-Nepal plants pack a crazy nutritional punch. You can read more here, but in a nutshell they present an affordable and sustainable opportunity for combatting malnutrition worldwide. I’m looking forward to cultivating them in my village and encouraging families to do the same.







Then, for myself and another volunteer, it was back to Kathmandu and on to Mahjgaun, the village where we lived for three months during pre-service training. On the way, one of the bus's batteries exploded in a shower of sparks, delaying our arrival and causing us to arrive in the village as night was falling. It was incredible to see the new developments of the community (vastly improved roads flanked by manmade canals; new and refurbished homes of stone and concrete; a set of cement stairs leading up what was previously a very treacherous path to another volunteer’s house). One thing that hadn’t changed was the people—the community was so thrilled to see and talk with us. We had to decline countless invitations for tea and snacks from our welcoming neighbors. By the end of the day, we were dead tired from the constant conversation and glaring heat. Spending time with my host family was particularly satisfying and nostalgic for me. My niece is growing up to be a little rascal, or as we like to say in Nepali, “mateko bandar” (drunken monkey).






We stayed two nights in Mahjgaun before heading back to Kathmandu. I fell asleep briefly during the bus ride and awoke to find my Peace Corps-issued cell phone missing from my pocket. All signs pointed to it being stolen, which is ironic because that phone is cheaper than the cell phones that most Nepalis own. Thankfully, Peace Corps staff helped me purchase a new SIM with the same number, and I was able to replace the phone for about $20.

Now I’m sitting in a hotel in Butwal, listening to the new Coldplay album and poised to return to my site tomorrow. I’ve been gone a long time and feel ready to tackle my work with new energy—so long as the heat doesn’t drag me down. I’ve got a laundry list of plans for the coming months, many of which will falter or fail, but one or two of which might just exceed my expectations.


Also, I'd like to take a moment to thank all of you who've been reading what I put up here. My blog has gotten over 5,000 views in the past 9 months thanks to your curious fingers and eyes! To those of you who've written to me about it, it's been wonderful hearing your feedback. To those of you who read anonymously, I hope some of what I've read has broadened your worldview, or at least that you've been enjoying the stories. If you would like to hear about anything in particular about Nepal, Peace Corps, etc., leave a comment or send me a message.