I made my way back through the sad, dilapidated place (I have yet to see a place not in this condition on this trip.) Everything was quite drab and dreary — like everywhere else in Nepal, there was rubble everywhere. There were red bricks stacked everywhere or laying on the ground, higgledy-piggledy fashion. I couldn't tell if buildings were in the process of being torn down, possibly being renovated, or simply falling apart. This was much more the case in the cities, but even here in this small village I found the same phenomenon.
For the first few days in Nepal I couldn't stop my gaping and wonder and internal running commentary on the poverty and living conditions that I saw. At first I had feelings of pity; however, I very soon came to understand that to pity these people is an inappropriate response. First of all, I am judging them by a standard of living and cultural values which do not apply to their reality. Secondly, even though they have nothing, they meet you as equals. They obviously do not regard their self-worth in terms of their material possessions, or lack of them, but from a deeper, truer source.
I kept on thinking of the Bible verse: "It is better to light one candle than to curse the darkness." And bit by bit I became able not to ignore or become hardened by what I saw, but rather to simply accept that this is how life is and to honor each person, and to greet each person's humility and kind "Namaste" with compassion and respect and a "Namaste" of my own.
These people have nothing materially, but I have seen more gentle kindness here than anywhere in the wealth of the West. Every time I leave a shop without buying anything I feel so terribly sad because just the equivalent of a few US pennies could make a difference in their day; however, when I leave without buying there is often a warmth in their large brown eyes and, with a smile, they wish me well.
I made my way up the road and soon realized I should never have allowed Bhim to leave me alone. When I'm in his company, our conversation occupies my mind and allows me some respite from the conditions through which we travel. But now I am assailed by a little boy who wants to sell me postcards. How can I tell him no? And so I buy. And then another little boy with a canvas bag approaches me with some nice calendars. "They will make nice little gifts for people back home," I think, and so I ask the price.
He wants two hundred rupees for each calendar. "How much for three?" I ask. "Six hundred," he says. But I only have five hundred rupee notes and he does not have change, and so he takes one of my notes and runs down to a little shop several feet away. Then I see him leave that shop and heading in another direction. In a few minutes he returns. He cannot get change. I hold up three fingers and point to the calendars and say "Three calendars for five-hundred?" He agrees and we begin to make the transaction.
An older woman who has been standing nearby comes over and begins to speak angrily in Nepali, first to the boy, and then to me. I assume that she is angry at me for bargaining with the boy and I just stand there, not sure what to do, and the next thing I know, the boy says, "Okay, bye bye lady," and he takes off running.
The woman still looks angry. Then she points in another direction and says, "One fifty," and then she points to the boy who is running and says, "Two hundred!" She is angry because she thinks the boy has overcharged me by a few pennies and this is not right, in her opinion.
"It's okay. Okay!" I say and then I turn to the little girl who is standing shyly beside the woman and say "Namaste" to her. The woman calms down and explains in very very rough English that her son is in Kathmandu and this is his daughter. "My bebe," she says proudly and she picks up the little girl and agrees to my taking a photograph.
"You sons?" she asks. I hold up two fingers. "Two." She looks at me with awed, approving eyes and says, "Two sons! Very good!" Then, in pantomime fashion, I mold one son and his wife and a second son and his wife and their three children and she smiles in understanding.
Then she points across the dirt road and says "House, come" and she picks up the little girl and jumps the little gully between the road and hill and then nimbly climbs up the natural dirt steps that have been shaped by her feet over many years.
I have to gain my footing before crossing over the gully and struggle a bit to get up the "stairs." We are at the outside of her house — a little shack — and she pulls out a very small stool. It is about eight inches wide by six inches deep and about one and a half inches tall. She proudly puts it out and motions for me to sit. As I am determining how I will get down there gracefully (and then get back up again) she makes another sound, urging me to take the seat of honor.
I manage to sit and then find I am in the direct line of smoke from a slow burning fire at the side of her house. She is cooking her rice for the day. We manage to struggle through some more "conversation" and then Bhim and Umesh turn the bend and see me sitting there. Another child comes up with more postcards and asks me to buy one for twenty rupees. I take the bunch from his hand and count out ten of them and ask "how much for ten?" He answers, "Two hundred," and I congratulate him on his good arithmetic skills and we make the transaction.
Bhim suggests a photograph of the two grandmothers and the baby and we pose accordingly. The next day, as we are leaving the village, I happen to see the woman as our car passes her house. I quickly roll down the window and wave. Just as our car is turning the corner she looks up to see my waving arm and I wonder if she knows that it is me who is waving at her? I'm sure she must have known, and I like to think that she waved back, God bless her!
