Day 8: Parent Teacher Meetings

Terraced fields of maize

Around midnight some strange noises started. It sounded like there was somebody on the tin roof or that the stonewalls around us were being pushed over. And, having just deconstructed one of these houses and having seen how they are held together, this was abslutely a possibility. It was loud, very loud. And, as we tried to work out what the noise actually was, I was convinced that the walls were going to collapse around us and used Chris as a shield. Thankfully, once we turned the light on, we realised that the sound was actually an animal running around in the roof. And, because the roof is a thin layer of ply wood, it was making a horrible racket.

We rose this morning to another stunning morning in Gaunshahar, the mountains lit up by the rising sun. Kulpana provided a breakfast of noodle soup once again, along with some milk tea, before we got to work moving rubble. The plan was to level the ground for the garden outside the restaurant and use the rubble to fill the raised parking area. It was tiring work and we were happy to have an early lunch of dal bhat at 11:30am. Next stop...school.

Villager

Shamser had requested that we meet him and Soorita at school at midday as we were to accompany him on his visits to students' homes so he could converse with their parents. Thinking that we would simply be stopping in at a few homes within the village I wore thongs. If I'd have known we'd be hiking a 6.5km round trip up and down hills to visit neighbouring villages, I'd have rethought my shoe choice.

The first half of the afternoon was extremely enjoyable. We walked through tiny stone villages where buffalo ploughed terraced hills, chickens roamed free and Mary Jane grew wild. The women we visited, despite speaking no English, were welcoming and kind and we were happy to be visiting their simple homes. The lack of males within the villages highlighted what Shamser had told us about so many Nepalese men going out of the country to find work. The women looked as though they belonged on a postcard. Huge gold nose rings, colourful skirts and beautiful head scarves along with cracked feet and hands that had seen more than their share of hard work. One lady gave each of us a glass of curd. It was lumpy, warm and sour and had chunks of sugar sprinkled on the top. Additionally, mine came with a bug in it. Chris and I each took a sip from our respective cups and, even with the best intentions to be polite and drink it down, we just couldn't do it. The gag reflex was kicking in and, while Shamser drank Chris', I had to give mine back and listen as we were told how weak our Western stomachs were.

A Buffalo's Life

The enjoyment we gained from wandering through these villages was soon quashed when we visited Deelay's home. Deelay is the hard worker from Shamser's construction site who is paid in whiskey rather than money. This fact was no longer funny when we met his wife and were informed that he has been known to beat her when he's drunk. Add to that the fact that she was party deaf, barely spoke Nepali, had a swollen face due to an infected tooth and it was a sad sight. Tears welled in my eyes as I watched her show Shamser and Soorita how Deelay would grab her hair and her throat. Without speaking a word of her broken Nepali it was easy to understand how sad and pathetic this poor woman was feeling.

A village nearby Gaunshahar

We left with Shamser promising to help by talking to Deelay, limiting his whiskey intake and getting the woman the medicine she needed. He was also planning to continue providing them with food and to build a new roof for the decrepit, tiny room that was their home.

The only way I could console myself after seeing this woman was with the fact that at least now the facts were out in the open and something would be done to hopefully help the situation. And, at least we were getting an accurate picture of Nepal...warts and all.

The rest of the afternoon was enjoyable enough as we continued to weave our way between stone houses, visiting the familiar faces we recognised from teaching at the school. One lady even donated some plants for Shamser's new garden. The terraced farmland that the tiny villages are built on seemed to continue forever into the distance.

We arrived home around 4pm, showered and settled in for a relaxing afternoon. For the first time in a long time we sat in a room, didn't talk to anybody and watched a movie. Driving Miss Daisy to be precise. It was a lovely taste of normality. We emerged around 7pm just in time to check on Shamser's dirt-removal progress before another delicious dal bhat. We chatted with Timmy for a while about the usual...brain washing in America, before bed.