Tihaar

We returned from Kathmandu on the first day of Tihaar, the five-day Hindu festival of lights. Also known as Dipaawali and Diwaali, Tihaar is Nepal’s second biggest festival. A different animal is honored on each of the first four days: crows (the messenger of Yamaraaj, the god of death); dogs (Yamaraaj’s gatekeepers); cows (a symbol of the goddess Laxmi, the goddess of wealth); and oxen (highly valued for its work in the fields). On the third day, Nepalis light their homes and leave their doors open for the goddess Laxmi in hopes that she will come and bless them with prosperity. Many families decorate their doorway with intricate designs of colored sand and make a path of footprints from the doorway to the prayer room in anticipation of her arrival. Houses in our village, the market, and throughout the hills gleamed with flashing lights, flower garlands, and paper decorations.

On the fifth and final day, sisters honor their brothers by giving them a seven-colored tikaa and a variety of foods, for which brothers give their sisters money in return. Many females return to their parents’ home to celebrate this day—my older sister, for example, walked three hours with her son for the occasion. I received tikaa from her and my younger sister, as well as my language and cultural teacher, which was very special. I also received an enormous array of foods (including three bananas, five apples, two oranges, an entire coconut, nuts, raisins, chocolate, rock candy, biscuits, cookies, and seven pieces of sel roti). Two weeks later, I’m still working my way through it. After receiving tikaa, I walked around the community with my teacher and another trainee, meeting more Nepalis than I could count. After all the walking, sitting, eating and talking, I was exhausted. Still, I had it better than another friend, who walked almost eight hours to and from the house of her host sister’s parents.

Tihaar also involves a lot of singing and dancing. In the evening and well into the night, groups go house-to-house, the girls singing bhaile and dancing and the boys singing deusi and playing a drum. In return, householders offer them rice, treats, and money. One day during Tihaar, another trainee and I went to the school near my house to observe the students singing and dancing. As is typical of Nepali hospitality, we were quickly roped in to the festivities. The next evening, I wandered around the village with my host father in search of singing groups. Mostly we found drunken older men having dance parties and playing cards, but it was still a good time. As with Deshain, raksi (alcohol) and gambling are a big part of Tihaar for Nepali men. People also set off firecrackers, which makes for intermittent noise throughout the day and night.

Kathmando's and Don'ts

Just minutes after I posted about the cancellation of our trip to Nepalgunj, the Peace Corps staff announced a new three-day trip to Kathmandu. We were so happy! This past Tuesday, the 26 of us piled into a tourist bus for the three-hour drive to Bhaktapur, one of the three royal cities in Kathmandu Valley (the other two being Kathmandu and Patan). We’d previously stayed in the outskirts of Bhaktapur for Initial Orientation, but now we would tour the ancient heart of the city.

Traveling to Bhaktapur—and really going anywhere in any vehicle in Nepal—is no walk in the park. In fact, transportation is one of Peace Corps Nepal’s greatest safety concerns. First, there’s the state of the roads: aside from those in and connecting major cities, the majority of Nepali roads are windy, narrow, unpaved, and unkempt. In many spots, there isn’t enough room for two vehicles to pass simultaneously. During monsoon season, some of the roads become literally impassable by water. Erosion occasionally causes landslides that either block or destroy roads, depending on where they occur. Limited lighting along roads makes for poor visibility.

If there are rules of the road, they are rarely followed. Except in some parts of Kathmandu, traffic lights are virtually nonexistent. Turn signals are used so scarcely that it wouldn’t really matter if they didn’t exist. Drivers turning onto roads, rather than those going straight, often claim the right of way. Most roads lack dividing lines or lanes, and passing slower vehicles is done frequently and daringly. Cars and buses barrel down the hill, honking around corners to alert oncoming traffic of their presence. Bus drivers often work with one or two others whose sole jobs are to collect the fare and ensure that the bus doesn’t hit anything. In addition, drunk driving, overcrowded vehicles, and poor vehicle maintenance compound the risk of accident.

And accidents do happen. On a weekend hike with her family, a fellow trainee spotted people emerging from a bus that had just gone off the road; luckily, everyone was able to escape without serious harm. A current volunteer’s village was recently struck by tragedy when a jeep went over the side of a cliff, killing several (including his neighbor). On the way home from a group trip to Melamchi we came fairly close to a head-on collision with another bus, stopping just a few feet from its front windshield.

One of the more peaceful views from the bus ride

Nevertheless, we made it to Bhaktapur unscathed. With its many temples, shrines, and monuments, Bhaktapur is a very popular tourist destination—foreign spending accounts for 60% of the city’s revenues. Nepali art and architecture here are highly intertwined, with intricate woodcarvings covering many of the doors and windows of the ancient buildings. Walking through the city was a strange experience for many of us: viewed as tourists, we were not stared at for the first time in months. When shopkeepers and street merchants tried to sell us their goods in English, we responded in Nepali, much to their surprise and delight. As white people who speak to the language, we are regarded as neither tourist nor Nepali. Our position as both an outsider and an insider will have a profound impact on our work, and is one of the reasons Peace Corps is a unique organization.

 

That night, we stayed in guesthouse near Thamel, one of the more touristy parts of Kathmandu. Our bus arrived in the early evening, giving us some time to eat and explore. After being in our isolated, traditional villages for almost two months, the freedom and possibility of a big city felt both exciting and strange. We could choose from a variety of foods (rather than twice-a-day dhal bhaat), drink (without being judged), and blend in. Over the next few days, we enjoyed Tibetan, Italian, American, and Middle Eastern cuisine. After a few days, however, some of us found ourselves actually missing our family’s dhal bhaat.

The next day, we participated in an “Amazing Race” designed to familiarize us with traveling to important places in the city independently. These included a travel health clinic, hospital, bus station, and finally the Peace Corps Office. Though my team didn’t win, traveling around the city was a fun and invaluable experience. In Kathmandu, public transportation consists of taxis (a little expensive for our budget), tempos (or tuk-tuks), microbuses, and buses. Riding these last three can be a real adventure: after flagging one down and asking whether the driver can take you to your destination, you climb on board the (sometimes still-moving) vehicle and try find some space amidst the other jam-packed travelers. During busy times, up to 25 passengers made be found in vans designed for fifteen. But the tight space also has its benefits, especially given Nepalis’ friendliness. Even with our rudimentary language skills, we made fast friends with a number of our fellow travelers.

We spent the rest of that day and most of the next receiving trainings at the Peace Corps Office, an unmarked, highly secured, and very beautiful estate that the Peace Corps is renting from a wealthy Tibetan merchant. Highlights from the next two days included an office tour, a flu shot, pizza, a Halloween cake and Snickers bars (as well as bobbing for apples, at the request of some trainees), and a talk by Jim Fischer, one of the volunteers from the first group of Peace Corps Volunteers to work in Nepal. His stories and pictures resonated with some of what we’ve experienced so far, and also excited us for the two years to come. I bought and read his book, At Home In the World, which contained a lot of useful information about what life in the Peace Corps is like in Nepal.

Other notes from Kathmandu:

My computer is fixed! Brought it to the Apple Store, where they plugged it in and it immediately started charging. I felt like an idiot, but am relieved to have my computer back.

We returned from Kathmandu as a group of 25, one short of the number we arrived with. For a number of reasons I shouldn’t discuss here, another of our members has gone home. Again, we hit another emotional low as the some of the harsher realities of service continue to sink in.

Dashain

Dashain, the greatest of Hindu festivals, celebrates the triumph of good over evil. Legend has it that long ago a demon king, made invincible by the god Shiva, was terrorizing the good people and gods. Desperate, the gods turned to the goddess Durga, giving her all their various weapons, to defeat him. After fighting for 9 days, Durga finally defeated him on the tenth day. Fifteen days in total, Deshain is arguably the greatest Hindu festival. Children have two weeks’ vacation from school, family members return to their childhood homes, and the country essentially shuts down for a few days.

Dashain starts on the first no-moon night in autumn. On the first evening, a water jug representing Durga is placed in the prayer room of the house, with barley seeds sown in sand surrounding it. The water jug and seeds are watered with holy water following a pujaa (offering) each day. Because my father’s father passed away within the past year, my family did not perform many of the rituals of Dashain. Fortunately, an uncle (who is more like my first uncle twice removed) invited us to his home to watch the process.

Beginning on the seventh day, animals, representing the evils of humanity, are sacrificed. Traditionally, this consisted of a water buffalo (anger), goat (lust), rooster (goat), sheep (stupidity), and either chicken or duck (timidity), but nowadays most people stick to the water buffalo and goats. On the eighth day, at 7:30am, my father, brother and I headed down to my great uncle’s house to observe a kasi (castrated goat) sacrifice. If you have a weak stomach, I encourage you to skip the next paragraph and pictures. 

After doing pujaa, my great uncle wielded a kukuri (machete-like knife) and swung it down across the kasi’s neck. Unfortunately for all (though mostly the kasi), the blade didn’t go all the way through and he had to strike another blow to behead it successfully. I later learned that Nepalis do have a process for ensuring that the goat is willing to be sacrificed: if the kasi moves its head, it’s taken as a sign of consent (though I’d like to see a goat that didn’t try to move while being restrained). With the legs still kicking, my uncles and cousins drained some of the spurting blood into a bowl. Next, they poured boiling water onto the skin to ease the removal of the kasi’s hair, which they performed by scraping with a metal cup (the sound of which was almost sickening) and later by shaving with razor blades. Meanwhile, another uncle charred and chopped up the head. After all the hair had been removed, they covered the skin with an orange spice and handed it over to the butcher. He proceeded to remove the entire gastrointestinal tract (which my father cleaned), heart, liver, lungs and all the rest. In the meantime, my great uncle removed the brain, eyes, tongue, and ears from the head. When everything had been cut and weighed, only the hair, bladder, kidneys, and skull had been discarded. My family took half of the meat, which would last us and our guests the entire next week (which, with the lack of refrigeration, is more than just a little sketchy). I had been a vegetarian before Dashain, but at my mother’s behest I ate meat for the festival. While I can now proudly say that I’ve eaten just about every part of a goat, I’ve reverted back to vegetarianism.

On the tenth day, Nepalis visit each others’ homes and receive tika, a mixture of rice, yogurt, and red dye. Seated before the most senior woman in the household, tika is placed on the forehead and the shoots of barley (having grown considerably from the first day) are played on the receiver’s head and behind the ears. In exchange for this blessing, fruit and money are given to the household. My family did not give or receive tika this Dashain, but I was invited to three other homes. Because of my guest status, I actually received money from my elders, but finished at a net loss after giving gifts to all the girls in my family. Interestingly, a girl in a friend’s host family was not allowed to participate in the festivities because she menstruating at the time. Imagine not being able to celebrate Christmas because you were on your period!

Receiving tika

Along with gifts, people typically receive and wear new clothing for Deshain. Six of my friends and I decided to have dura surwals, the traditional formal dress of Nepali men, made in time for the holiday. At my encouraging, we went to my village’s tailor, who had made clothes for several of last year’s trainees, to get measured and choose fabric. Our shirts, pants, vests, and topis (a traditional hat worn by Nepali men), he assured us, would be ready within two weeks, in time for the festival. As the date approached, however, we grew increasingly concerned that he might not finish in time. His shop was often closed, or he was making other clothes, or he once he even watched us during a technical training session. In the week leading up to our deadline, a number of calamities befell his family: first, his niece committed suicide; a few days later, his granddaughter had to go to the hospital; the following day, his wife went missing (she had gone out drinking). Despite considerable pressure from my language teacher, aunt, and father, he balked and didn’t finish in time. Now, a full two weeks after we had requested our clothes be ready, they still sit unfinished in his workshop. He hasn’t apologized and has refused to discount the clothes, the total price of which amounts to around 12,000 rupees (over $100, a considerable sum). All in all, the situation has proven to be extremely difficult for me: having convinced my friends to walk several hours to come to this particular tailor, who had been endorsed by current volunteers, I feel that I’ve let them down; the tailor, a friendly, helpful man, had to deal with a series of family emergencies but failed to follow through on his promise and has shown no remorse; as a Dalit, he is already victimized in the community; yet in his actions he has reinforced the stereotypes of laziness, dishonesty, and discourtesy associated with his caste. And we still don’t have our clothes. Thankfully, I received a shirt from my father and topis from my brother and uncle as Deshain gifts, allowing me to walk around the village looking just a little more Nepali.

Another tradition of Dashain is ping, a tall swing made from bamboo and rope. Hindus believe that one should lift off the ground at least once a year, leaving one’s worldly worries behind. Assembling a ping can take several hours, between digging the holes, making the ropes, lashing together the bamboo, and raising the whole structure. Once built, crowds of children line up for their turn at ping, sometimes going two at a time and synchronizing their movements to achieve maximum height. Talented, fearless swingers can get as high as 30 feet up, the arc of their motion reaching almost a full 180 degrees.

Deshain is also a time for reconciliation. After the goat sacrifice, my parents, apparently in a bit of a feud with our relatives next door, approached my brother and me with plates of spice and meat and asked us to deliver them to our grandmother next door. The gift, simple and somewhat impersonal, brought her to tears, and through her rapidly mumbled Nepali I comprehended the extent of her gratitude. Since then, however, relations haven’t improved. When a Nepali woman’s husband dies, it is common that she must cook, clean, and fetch water herself for the following year, but the extent of my grandmother’s exclusion seems extreme. Its gravity was especially apparent when, a few days later, my father and his mother found each other at the water tap at the same time and didn’t speak a single word to each other.

Nevertheless, our family enjoyed some great times during Deshain. My didi (older sister), her husband, and her two sons spent a few nights with us. I had a lot of fun with my two banjas (nephews), 13 and 11 years old, playing cards and listening to American music. My didi’s husband (my binaaju), an officer in the Nepali army, apparently enjoyed drinking with me, passing out early both nights after one too many glasses of beer. My second-oldest brother, a policeman, came from Kathmandu on his motorbike. He too spent most nights drinking. My father, prohibited from drinking raksi due to his father’s passing, was still permitted to drink bottled liquor; after a single glass, he was always smiley and giddy. With all the revelry, I was obliged to indulge as well. Raksi, the local alcohol made from fermented millet, is a little like sake in its flavor and strength. Aside from one bad night, I got along pretty well with the stuff.

After All, Bholi Is Another Day

My computer hasn’t been working for the past few weeks (hopefully just a bad battery), so I’m using a friend’s to write this. A number of notable things have happened since I last wrote. Perhaps most significantly, we received our site assignments. After swearing in as a volunteer, I’ll be moving to the municipality of Shreegaon in the district of Dang. There, I’ll be working with a medical officer out of a primary health center to promote nutrition health education within the community, among other things.

Initially, I wasn’t entirely thrilled with my placement: Dang is near the Tarai, the lowlands of Nepal famous for their heat, malaria, and snakes (including cobras). After reading through the entire report, however, my feelings grew more positive. I’ll going to be in a relatively flat area, which will make travel quicker (we have the option of getting a bike, but I’m pretty shaky on two wheels). I’ll also be working with a physician, a career path I hope to pursue after Peace Corps. Finally, the health center has a large plot of unused land that they need help managing. With the various technical trainings we’ve had lately (especially composting, nursery development, permagardening, and beekeeping), my head is swarming with ideas for the space.

For us to meet our government counterparts and new host families, Peace Corps planned a group trip to Nepalgunj (a large city near the Indian border) followed by individual visits to our sites. We were supposed to depart this past Monday, but were informed last Thursday that the trip had been cancelled. A temporary Nepal-wide ban on long-distance government travel, along with the U.S. government furlough, left us all without the means to go. The cancellation of the trip, for which a week and a half had been allotted, frustrated some of us who wanted a break from the highly structured, sometimes tedious schedule of pre-service training. Instead, we’ll now have an additional week and a half of language classes, family time, and restricted freedom.

In addition, due to the turmoil in anticipation of the upcoming Nepali Congress election, rumors have been circulating that our Swearing-In Ceremony (just two days after the election) is likely to be delayed. News here in the hills is somewhat scant, but political tensions (or at least activities) appear to be mounting somewhat. Last week a candidate was apparently assassinated, news of which only reached me from a current volunteer several days later. This past week, I’ve seen several trucks flying the flags of various political parties. Two days ago, a number of Maoist party politicians met in the home of my language teacher. Yesterday, I met a large group of men walking through the village hanging out fliers and putting up posters. From the few minutes of Nepali news and the one Nepali newspaper I’ve read, I have a feeling that our isolation is insulating us from much of the action for the present, but we’re scheduled to spend nearly a week in Kathmandu leading up to our Swearing-In Ceremony. With the all the bandhs that have been declared, travel to and within the city may not be possible around election time.

A political rally in Chautara

There is a saying among Peace Corps staff that bholi (tomorrow) never comes in Nepal.  While we are excited for our future here, we don’t yet know when it will arrive, or what to expect until then.