I chose the name for this blog, without too much thought, based on the Peace Corps language materials I received a few months prior to leaving for Nepal. The first word on the sheet was “namaste,” with an English translation of a simple “hello.”
In actuality, as I learned upon my arrival, namaste means something closer to “I bow to you,” or, as one of our language teachers interprets it, “I salute the divine in you.” It signifies deference to the addressee and recognition of that individual’s worth. A Nepali says namaste when greeting a senior person for the first time in the day, and will sometimes conclude the day’s final interaction with that person with a namaste as well. But the obeisance is not one-sided. The senior recipient echoes the namaste, in open acknowledgement of the first speaker’s goodness. The respect is mutual.
In the past twenty-seven months, I’ve said namaste thousands of times. Now, I’d like to say it one final time, as a respectful nod to the country that has become my second home.
When I left the states for Nepal on September 6, 2013, I was preoccupied with thoughts of how different the U.S. would be when I returned. I contemplated how much American culture and lifestyle might change in my two-year absence. I feared I would miss the graduations, marriages, births, and deaths of friends and family—and indeed I did miss a few landmark occasions. I also missed a lot of the news and trends while living under a rock these past few years, creating a huge potential gap in my trivia knowledge and my millennial “hipness.”
But I wasn’t prepared for the number of significant events I would experience in two years of living there. When I arrived in Nepal, I unconsciously presumed life there would be perpetual and I expected that, when I left, all things would be as they were when I came, unaltered during my transient presence. That had been the case everywhere I’d ever traveled, because in the past I’d only ever been a visitor, leaving distant places with snapshots of their states of affairs, rather than a narrative capturing their fluid, gradual transformation. And I’d never sunk my feet in for such a long and consistent duration, never leaving time for the environment to diffuse into me, and for me to diffuse into it.
Despite the drawn-out day-to-day, a lot happened during my time in Nepal. Babies were conceived, born, and began to walk. Healthy people succumbed to illness and died. Among the Nepali people and other volunteers with whom I initially shared little in common, I discovered lifelong friends. The nation was struck by severe flooding, landslides, avalanches, and a 7.8 earthquake, the country's largest in 80 years. People I know and love lost their homes and lives that day. Nepal also ratified its constitution and elected its first female president. Even as I leave, the challenges continue as Nepalis struggle through the fuel shortage caused by India’s unofficial blockade, not to mention the delay in aid delivery to earthquake victims.
Assimilating into such a foreign world was not easy. There were countless moments, days, and even weeks when Nepal humbled me. Cultural and language barriers; professional and personal difficulties; confrontations with my limitations and weaknesses; feelings of ineptness and inadequacy—the challenges often seemed insurmountable, and I failed frequently. Never have I felt so small.
But there were also times when the country seemed to respond and recognize my value. Nepal not so much fostered but forced my development in innumerable ways. I spent sweat, blood, and tears on improving the lives of those in a community, in my community, and got to work with some exceptional people with whom I achieved more than I’d thought possible. In those times, all the challenges seemed worthwhile.
And so my attitude towards Nepal has shifted over time. Upon my arrival, I was first impressed with a land of beauty and a people of kindness. As I stayed longer, I increasingly took these things for granted and fixated on the nation’s shortcomings. And finally, after twenty-seven months, I have a clearer picture. Nepal has certainly lost much of its initial gleam, as I’ve come to understand its many questionable and unpleasant realities, including caste discrimination and gender inequality. But only when you recognize the dark and the light can is a thing’s divinity truly appreciable. The rises and falls have filled me with an irreconcilable mixture of disappointment and pride in Nepal, like an ambivalent father who lambasts his child for her faults but promptly rises to her defense if another should criticize her. An earnestly critical eye coupled with unconditional, indefensible devotion—some might call that love.
The country is changing, in many ways for the better. It’s been exciting to have a small part in it.
So Namaste, Nepal. I salute the divine in you. I hope that you can say the same for me.
