"My Country, My Pride"

"So man, why don't these villagers just kick these rocks off to the side of the road so the buses can get through?"

"Well, these villagers put the rocks there."

"Oh...so if we try to move them they'll get upset?"

"...Yep."

My feeling on bandas is well documented. Imagine my surprise when I find myself wandering along a road next to an American named Chris (I think) explaining the finer details of this particular political stunt. Chris is a man who this time last week was actually standing on the top of Mount Everest which I found really creepy. Impressive, but creepy. In an aside, these guys seem to all be about town at the moment. If you aren't talking to someone who was on top of Everest this time last week then you are talking to someone about someone who was there.

We had just spent another glorious weekend at the Last Resort. Many of my friends will be leaving over the next month and it was kind of like our last hurrah. I organised a weekend of relaxing combined with a little adventure in canyoning and a high ropes course. The crew weren't all that enthused about the idea but tell you what, afterwards they agreed with me. It was LEGENDARY!

I think I will give you more on the activities later, this is yet another banda post. Ironically, on our way home, IN THE SAME TOWN as the banda with the burning tyres with the photo that makes me look guilty and menacing we were stopped by a banda. This one was was so far in progress that 2 dogs were actually taking a nap underneath the bus that was blocking the road. We actually knew about this one ahead of time and as one of the staff (Raju) went to check it out we milled around enjoying the scenery. It had rained enough overnight that we had a beautiful view of the hills around us. The Bote Koshi raging below. And there was the sweet squelching below my feet as I realised I had stood in a rather thick mud puddle.

We collected our backpacks and walked around the two buses parked in the middle of the road. We loaded ourselves onto another bus that was trapped between this banda and the next, and went along our merry way. Liz and Rosie on the roof, Sanjana, Katherine, Rory, Ulli, Flo, Richard, Rhian and myself wedged somewhere between a smelly t-shirt, 400 eggs and a bag of spinach.

We descended from our chariot again to walk through the next banda, and it was here I found myself next to Chris. Kind of ogling at the idea that this guy my age has been standing on top of the world last week. It turns out that the villagers were unhappy that the policemen in town collecting taxes had had a scuffle with someone over his or her willing to or not to pay their tax. I really don't know how you resolve an issue where the people that tell everyone to disperse and break it up (the police) are the people you are protesting against.

My dear Nepali friend Sanjana (who was also my partner through the glorious high ropes course) chimed in to help explain things to Chris. "My Country, My Pride. That's what we say. When I am standing out work looking out the window at the amazing mountains around me I just think, My Country, My Pride. But then I look down, and I see the sewers backing up because no one has collected the garbage in 10 days and I think 'my country, my pride'. This is kind of one of those moments."

It took us 5.5 hours to do a 3 hour bus ride.

Fast forward to today. There is a complete traffic ban. The "Newars" have declared a banda as they want an autonomous Newar state. The Newars are the most populous people in the Kathmandu Valley. I put them in inverted commas because there appears to be a great deal of suspiscion that the Maoists are really creating havoc behind the scenes and pulling the strings. It's kind of like someone declaring that Melbourne be declared an autonomously white-ruled zone.

As I rode to work there wasn't a single car or bus. There were about a total of 10 guys waving red flags trying to get people to band around them but for the most part people were ignoring them (or probably swearing under their breath because they would have to walk for 3 hours to get to work). Their demonstrations definitely lacked the militancy behind any kind of Maoist protest we have seen in the past.

I have got to the point where I now accept bandas as a regular occurence. But they can't expect this one to work...can they?

The Third Gender

So, I alluded to it in my last post.

The Third Gender.

Does anyone else think that thatmeans the aliens have landed?

According to an article I read in the paper a few days ago, in the 2011 census, the third gender are going to be acknowledged for the first time. People will be able to identify themselves as 'Third Gender'. There will be a 'Male' box, a 'Female' box and a 'Third Gender' box. This is a landslide, a victory in many ways.

According to a random fact Rory threw out earlier today, 15% of Nepali's classify as Third Gender. To me, this is a surprising high number, but perhaps I am getting ahead of myself. What is Third Gender.

From what I understand, Third Gender is a umbrella term to describe "lesbian, gay, bisexual, transgender and intersex" people. In my brief search I found that 2% of men and 1% of women in Australia identify as homosexual, I have no idea about the others. But at any rate this 15% number intrigues me.

The articles I have read suggest that the Nepali Supreme Court's decision to that the government repeal all discriminatory legislation against the Third Gender is a milestone for the community. I respect that. People have suggested, that even allowing people to identify as Third Gender in the census can help health policy as homosexuals are more at risk from HIV/AIDS etc.

I accept the value to human rights and anti-discrimination. But speaking as a data manager, (currently) a researcher and my general opinion, you can't just lump sexual preference in there with gender. They are two entirely seperate things. I think at the last hospital I worked at there were 5 options fo selecting gender and ZERO for selecting seual preference. Perhaps collection of that type of information would be incredibly useful. The privacy and sensibility of such a move would have to be debated and I have no intention of doing that here.

But as a data manager, the idea that 15% (if that is indeed an accurate number) of people will no longer be listed as male or female in the 2011 census is horrifying. I mean, what the hell will that do to the statistics, TO THE ANALYSIS???? ARGH! It blows my mind. OK, so you get a win in being abe to target health policies towards homosexual PEOPLE (not specifically men) or ttrans-gender or intersex, but you lose the ability to target health policies at do that same thing specifically at both women and men that have also ticked that box. Just because somebody has ticked the box to Third Gender because they are gay doesn't mean that they have changed body parts (they still have genitals). Women are one of the most underserved groups in Nepal (like most of the developing world) if the census (that a great many statistics are based on) don't accurately represent their number in any given population, they how good can any health policy or research be?

Yay to the Third Gender, but perhaps, a more practical implementation of it's meteoric rise?

"Jatra"

My first weekend back from a big week in Australia, I was really looking forward to a few days packed with ex-patness. What better way than to start Friday afternoon with round of karaoke at the place next toe Mike's Breakfast, you say? Well yes. The plan was to follow that up with a nice brunch on Saturday at somewhere outrageously expensive, hit the Hash, and then kick on the to the Scottish night of dancing that Becci politely invited me along to.

Remembering that I was determined to get a little bit more involved with my work colleagues, who had so far been immune to my approaches for a Friday afternoon drink, I invited Nhukesh - the one most likely to say yes - along to karaoke. Unsure what he had signed himself up for, he was appropriately nervous. I think its safe to say that he had a whale of a time. He might not have been an expect at most of the English songs we were singing, but he was the most unbelievable backup dancer we could have ever hoped for.

As happens with most activities in Nepal with less than 24 hours notice on that Friday night, Nhukesh asked me if I could go to his house on Saturday to see his village's festival. The celebrations were scheduled from about 2pm - midnight. Horribly aware of the clash this proposed not only to my addiction to Hash, but the massively anticipated Scottish dancing night (with the guarantee of a nip of whiskey at the door) I found myself in a little dilemma. While in Australia, I confessed my concerns that I wasn't really getting into the culture all that much, with the exception of Bhai Tika day. Eventually I came to the conclusion that I needed exercise more than a nip of whiskey and I piked on poor Becci and my other Scottish friends (who I am sure had a marvelous time without me destroying everything in my path on the dance floor).

I went to the Hash (which was out the arse end of nowhere) and then called Nhukesh (pretty exhausted) to find out where I had to go for this festival. He came to pick me up from Jawalakhel and took me to the Municipality of Kiritipur (about 10km away) where his village of Nagoun is located. He took me on a tour of the village and then to his parents' house where we sat down to eat a very special Newari meal.

Said meal consisted of:
- something that resembled pig fat that was white and jelly textured, I was assured that it was boiled buffalo meat (called Tarkha), specifically prepared for the evening. It tasted pretty much like what you would expect when you see something that resembles pig fat with the texture of white jelly flopping around on your plate
- a red coloured version of the above - "careful Rob-ji, this one is spicy" - and spicy it was - let me assure you
- beaten rice (this was my saviour) - pretty much a found of chiplike chunks of rice
- curried soy beans (another saviour)
- curried pickles - there was nothing particularly alarming about these - except that Nhukesh said - I don't think your stomach will handle that - its very hard to enjoy a particular food item if you are already having images of lonely hours on the family dunny

I was able to wash it all down with 3 different concoctions:
- rice beer (Thoa [in Newari] or Jaad [in Nepali])
- rice wine (Rakshi - good old Rakshi - imagine the heaviest wine you have ever drunk - now double it - that's about half as strong as this stuff)
- red rice beer (Yhamu-Thoa - stronger than the Rakshi this had a hint of that red flavour [you know, like the thing that makes strawberry ice cream taste like strawberry ice cream even though we all know its not strawberries, or red cordial - that kind of thing])

I listened in on the conversations but unfortunately I couldn't follow any of it, and was extremely frustrated for about 10 minutes, wondering why on earth I had spent any money at all on Nepali lessons. It was about that point that Nhukesh pointed out that they were speaking Newari - their ethnic dialect.

From there we went out on the town to see the villagers massing outside a house. Soon enough, their brought out an idol of the god Bal Kumari (Kumari is the word for a female virgin apparently). They loaded the little guy up in a shoulder mounted chariot, and we were led by 4 trumpets, 4 drums too many sets of cymbals and the chariot down the main street towards the temple on the other side of town that was to be Bal Kumari's home for the night. People came out of their homes to give offerings, one lady even had what looked to be a bottle of cough syrup on her offering plate. In her defence, it has been getting really cold, and Bal is going to have to hang out in a temple exposed to the elements all night. The journey was only about 200m, but with many drunk men and all the women and children with their offerings - it was slow going. Nhukesh and his friend Sunil cranked up the dancing again and there are a few photos of me getting into it as well.

At a few point I thought that some people were objecting to the movement of the chariot, because they kept pushing the guys carrying it backwards. After questioning Nhukesh on the point however it turns out that they were all just playing. Is very special to get a chance to carry the chariot, so many people jostle and push each other for fun, and if you happen to fall over or let go of the chariot, then someone will take over your place. You have to be tough!!!!

I'm not sure why we moved Bal Kumari, but it was a hell of a ride.

[photos to come - when Nhukesh remembers to bring his camera to work]

Characters > Bhoj Raj

Bhoj Raj G/aut/am is a fascinating creature that I see daily at work. He is very affectionate, highly intelligent, looks like he is about to cry just about most of the time, says thankyou one or two more times than necessary in a single conversation, is a Brahmin (very high caste status), can go by the nickname of Bhoju - although I am not prepared to get that familiar with him, lest he start trying to hold my hand in public- and is probably not quite as good at English as he thinks he is. This is fine, as my Nepali is a long way short of his English, I'm just setting the scene here.

Bhoj Raj, as has been pointed out before has appointed himself the "Rob Nepali Guru" meaning, he tries to teach me Nepali. Usually, this results in him saying things to me very quickly and pausing meaningfully while waiting for me to respond. This usually results in a 20 minute conversation where I mainly try and work out exactly which is the new word he is trying to teach me, as it is not either clear or easy to pronounce. Any attempt to get him to repeat a sentence prompts some kind of cognitive reset function resulting in him saying something completely different with no memory of having said something different 10 seconds before.

Today he told me his love story. "You and I are very alike Rob-ji," he starts, "we are both very young to be married, and both our wives are NURSES!" OK, so I lied when I got here, telling everyone that my girlfriend was actually my wife. Something I did on the advice of some Nepalis living in Australia who suggested it would "just be easier" when she comes to visit. Unfortunately, that won't be for a bloody long time, and in the meantime I have to keep together this web of lies that not only had us married before we started going out, but involves a honeymoon in Thailand (a place I have never been to) and means that I pretend to actually own a home.

Me: Are you in an arranged marriage? (FYI, options are love marriage or arranged marriage - about 50/50)
BR: NO NO! I am in a love marriage. But the story around my wedding is very strange.

The short of it is that Bhoj Raj met his wife, Urmila, while working at a hospital in Pokhara, over time they got to know each other rah, rah, rah. Where this gets interesting is around the point where Urmila's parents start to look for a good husband to set her up with. They found a nice chap. A businessman I believe that might or might not have known something about engineering.

She refused to marry him saying that she was in love with somebody else. You can almost see the scene now can't you? Demanding to know who it was, Urmila's father set out on a mission to discover more about the mysterious (and in my opinion over-friendly) ophthalmic assisstant.

You see, although you might not quite understand it, I most certainly don't, Nepal works (less and less nowadays, but it exists nevertheless) on a caste system. I haven't got a great grasp on it except to say that if you are a Brahmin, then you are pretty much ok, you have quite a lot of status, are likely to be able to afford education and won't be going begging. What I did not understand is that even among the various castes, there are ranks. Although Urmila is also a Brahmin [YAY], unfortunately poor Bhoj Raj is a lower rank than her [poo].

Her parents refused to allow her to see him and demanded that he come and see them alone. Afraid that they would be waiting with a bevvy of large brutish family members to do him an injustice, he refused to go unless he could take friends. As I understand it (and I am sure I have got part of this wrong) eventually they came to the conclusion that they could be together only if BR agreed to marry her the next day at temple, or the whole thing was off and Urmila's father would not take part in it at all.

It was 2pm in the afternoon and BR wasn't expecting this particular development. He had no money for a dowry (also required) and none of his relations knew anything about this. Apparently he went crazy that afternoon, finding special clothes, contacting relations to tell them about the wedding and borrowing some money and or gifts for a dowry. And the next day they were married. That was back in February, and unfortunately she is in Pokhara for now and he in Kathmandu.

He really is a character and always has a smile on his face (if it does look like he is also about to break out in tears).

[on the left - yes, the over-affectionate one]

Bhai Tika Day

This has been an incredibly big week. Should I talk about the insane ride up the hill with the warning: "This mountain has 15 to 50 degree inclines..." or the fact that for most of that ride our tires were spinning on the rocks because there wasn't a "road" so much as, well, rocks.

Should I tell you about the fact that the town is lit up as if it was Christmas? With children running around the streets letting off firecrackers? Occaisionally the odd firework will fly overhead as you walk down the street staring at all the decorations hanging from the shop windows that seemed to miraculousy appear overnight.

Actually I'll tell you about the cultural experience I had today. It was none to soon either. I have been wondering if I have not been fully embracing the amazing culture that surrounds me as I pass my year in this strange place. I can't explain to you what all the festivals are. I can't explain why people believe and do some of the things that they do. Today however, I had a great time at my counterpart's house.

He called me this morning, and instructed me to meet him at Koteshwor Tempo Park at 11 where he would give me a ride to his place. That was an adventure itself, and a story for another time. Turned out I was following him (me on bicycle, him on motorbike - yet another adventure) and we arrived at his house and he introduced me to his family. His sister, mother, son, daughter and brothers. I had to guess who the other people were, and I think I came to the right conclusion with wife and nephews.

Today, sisters prey for the long life of their brothers and give them a very special 'tika' (the cool little spot on the forehead that most people put on each day at temple). In return, brothers give their sister a gift. The women were inside preparing the meal while we sat outside and akwardly shot the breeze. The young boys were staring at me like a monster from the Trapdoor, not sure whether to speak or poke me and run away.

We were called inside and I was given my designated place. Arrayed in front of us on the floor were lots of colours and fruits. Mohan's sister went through Mohan and his brothers dropped some oil on our heads. Mohan's daughter (I feel horrible because I can't remember any of their names) did the same thing for her brother and cousins and then for me. They then poured flower petals over our heads and for some reason we found ourselves balancing walnuts up there as well. As the process continues the boys all became more comfortable and familiar with me, joking all the time. Mohan's daughter then gave me a little Nepali man's hat (YAY! I finally have one) and more flowers.

Then she pulled out the paints (all sorts of colours, made out of various fruits and foods) and gave us each a base layer of yellow with purple, red, pink and orange dots. Then we got a wad of sticky banana-rice redness whacked up above that. I'll put the photos up tomorrow. Afterwards she lit the wick of a candle for each of us and we threw flower petals over it. The ceremony appeared to conclude when grandma (she looks so much like a grandma - she was adorable) ran (actually ran) outside with our walnuts and started crushing them with a brick. Apparently it was very important that this occur at the same time as some other unseen (and unintroduced person) set off a firecracker in time with each one and Mohan's daughter passed us a boiled egg and a bowl of curd (yogourht) which we were apparently meant to eat. I was obviously a special guest, as I was also given a dried out fish (not part of a fish, or a fish fillet, a dried out fish, head and all). It was really special and I felt like a part of their family for the day.

We then had some food (which I thought was lunch) and then I asked the boys to teach me how to play carromboard (a fantastic game slightly similar to pool but without sticks or balls). The younger of us gave Mohan's daughter 'tika' (just the quishy sticky rice-banana redness) while the elders gave it to Mohan's sister. We followed this up with a present, I had already given them them a box of sweets so had to resort to money, which I understood was quite OK. Then an entire meal of Daal Bhat (sometimes, you really just can't eat that much rice) and I came home.

This is a very typical Newari custom (that usually occurs at night time) but we had it at lunch today as they were going to Mohan's wife's family's house for the same ceremony (kind of like at Christmas where you need to go to the party for both sides of the family).

As I rode home, many people pointed out my flower petals (still sticking to my hair) and noted my 'tika'. I felt less bideshi today.

Extra: Forgot to mention that yesterday was Newari New Year. Like I said, it's been a busy week.

I Want...

I'm so not in the mood today. I want to go home.

I want to see my family, and the beach and Lauren.

I want to wake up and have that feeling that I want to get out and go at the world.

I want my favourite TV programs.

I want to kick a footy and to go to a cricket match.

I want to play video games with my friends.

I want to have a conversation and be confident at the end that I understood it all.

I want to walk into the Turret and have Rhi pass over my chai latte.

I want to be back where car horns are used only in the case of dire emergency, even death.

I want to be able to buy milk and drink it without boiling it (oh yeah, I only just found out that I should have been doing that all this time).

"Wahhh!" I hear you say, well yes "waaah". Please no emails of "are you OK? is there anything I can do?", this is a temporary moment and it shall pass.

Maybe it's because I was up in the peaceful mountains for 12 days and I have gone into a state of return from holiday shock. To come back to the pollution and poverty is a bit of a kick in the gut. Speaking of guts, mine is acting up. There's something totally unnatural to me about co-habiting with monkeys, mal-nutritioned cows and stray dogs that lead me to believe that sometimes that the people here just don't care.

OK, I'm going to go and have a nice warm cup of cheer up buttercup.

Oh yeah. Today is 3 months. Maybe it's that.

Linguistic Adventures I

For me, visits to other countries are all about making mistakes and learning from them. Like ordering a "latte" in Italy and getting a warm cup of milk. Sometimes learning about myself along the way. Nepal has definitely been a learning experience. I would like to share some of the following things I have learnt.

1. Language class - my teacher, Bejoy Ji, did not seem to see the irony in the fact that the past version of the verb to drink or to smoke (same word) is "pie:". Further to that, it is illegal to hurt or eat a cow, making the acquisition of a beef and bacon pie that much more difficult (read impossible [this of course is an assumption because I haven't checked out the black market for beef n bacon pies{i'm not quite that desperate yet}]). This makes the gorgeous meat pie I ate the other week at the Australian Red Dingo restaurant all the more amazing. Follow it up with the apple pie people, you will be content, and probably have to check into the hospital on account of an exploded stomach.

2. Language class - The words gae:, gare: and gaare: apparently have some kind of phonetic difference that is impossible to pick up without come kind of cybernetic ear set so loud you could hear the ants crawling all over my kitchen bench.

3. Crazy neighbour lady - There has been an accumulation of stuff mounting on my carpet. Dust, bits of rubbish, crumbs and the like. Having tried to clean it up with the only tool available, a rather pathetic broom handle, I decided to bite the bullet and ask crazy neighbour lady (who speaks a lot of Nepali very fast and then stands there wondering just why it is I can't understand her) if she by any chance had a vacuum cleaner. I knew it was a long shot, but I looked up all the words in advance and went armed for the inevitable frontal Nepali verbal assault. "Tapaaiko vacuum chha?" (so, as it turned out there wasn't a word for vacuum, so I really only went armed with "you have" and "is/true". "eh?? oh, chhaina" - meaning "is not", was the response I got. As I was prepared to mumble OK and disappear the assault came at me quite unexpectedly from the side. "something something something maThi something something something" which I took to mean that someone upstairs had a vacuum cleaner. Either that or she wanted me to make sure I checked for spiders in the rafters. The upstairs people aren't around during the day so I went back inside. Moments later...a knock on the door. Crazy neighbour lady is there with a broom and a big grin. Waving it around like Christmas, she goes to give it to me. "Actually I already have a broom", and pulled it out to demonstrate. WIth a look of surprise she indicated that I should probably try using that, to which I responded "bad on carpet" and pointed at the carpet. She made a funny little side wobble thing that clearly meant I should brush harder and faster with my broom and promptly walked away. Probably in disgust. Needless to say, I used the broom and no more need be said.

4. Work lessons - Other lessons aren't quite so simple to understand, and I have to make the mistake many times before I learn. When I make it to work early, my office buddy is often not there yet, so I have to find the key to get in. There's a really friendly guy behind the desk at reception where the keys are kept. He always says hello and asks me how I'm going. As far as things go, I think that's not bad. "Rajujiko saa:cho kahaa chha?" - "where is Mr Raju's key?" After a brief look the response is ultimately "saa:cho chhaina (no key), but I think Mr Raju is upstairs". So I get upstairs only to find that Raju is not there, and he usually doesn't show until after 8. I go back downstairs, walk in behind reception, grab the key off the hook and glare and reception guy who somehow manages to smile at me at the end of it all. The blind girl that also works in reception never has a problem finding it.

Go figure.

Cultural Tolerance

Screw cultural tolerance.....I'm wearing shorts.