Written as a postscript to my dissertation: July 18, 2004

There is a dearth of literature that addresses the effect of participation in international field study on the health of resident researchers. Ethnographic researchers, such as Margaret Mead, her colleagues and predecessors, opened the door to the possibility of academics leaving their institutions to experience firsthand life in their research community. While anthropologists continue to immerse themselves in foreign cultures as a means of gaining insight into the one they left behind, scientists of all disciplines have broadened their scope and are traveling around the world to investigate research questions that have the potential of addressing significant concerns. Given the time that it takes to seek funding, research is often started in the midst of unforeseen circumstances, such as famine, flooding, or war. Exposure to extreme environments, or even seemingly ordinary ones for an extended period of time has the potential to cause morbidity, even mortality. Researchers are not immune to the environmental influences that affect their study participants. The vast majority is impacted at some level; however, there appears to be an unspoken code that encourages scientists to report only the science. What happens when the science becomes personal?

Between December 2000 and May 2003 I conducted my research in Nepal. While I was in the country, the royal family was massacred, the civil insurgency between the government and Maoists intensified, the government declared a state of emergency, Nepalis were kidnapped and executed, the Maoists destroyed much of the surrounding infrastructure by bombing telephone towers, hydroelectric plants, and vehicles on the main thru-fare, and the country experienced the heaviest rains it had seen in the previous 20 years. Since I left Nepal, the violence has continued to intensify and the country has experienced heavier rains. While I was living in Sarlahi District, there was a rash of murders and/or suicides among women living in one community, children began playing ‘government and Maoists’ (similar to the cowboys and Indians game that American children play), and the effects of the civil insurgency described above were experienced at a local level.

Personally, I experienced malnutrition, parasitic infection, and the stress of not knowing whether I would need to evacuate any one of my three homes at a moment’s notice. As a result of eating the local cuisine, I contracted anemia, diarrheal illness, and was febrile for months on end. Between November 2001 and April 2004, at least one of three parasites (giardia, amoebic dyssentary, or blastocyst hominis) inhabited my body. I had guns pointed at my head as our project vehicle pulled up beside military checkpoints on the road between Sarlahi District and Kathmandu, the capital or military vehicles pulled in front of my bike in traffic and I suddenly found myself facing the open end of six to ten rifles that were pointed out the back of the truck. At the beginning of one of the 13- to 16-hour roundtrip weekly excursions I took to Kathmandu in order to seek refuge from the intense isolation I felt in the project site, I witnessed the aftermath of a horrific traffic accident that continues to haunt me today. When I completed my data collection, I was fortunate to be able to return to a country that possesses as many resources as the United States, where I had access to nutritional supplements and professionals equipped to help me heal both my mind and body.

What strikes me about my sojourn in Nepal is that everything I experienced, witnessed, was in the presence of Nepalis. Together we endured nightly curfews, the inconvenience of nationwide political strikes that did not allow us to work or travel, and the ever-present fear that permeates life in a country rife with civil conflict. It has taken a year for me to achieve optimal health, be able to work effectively, and to reach a point where I no longer see imaginary guns pointed at me or experience regular panic attacks triggered by something as common as violence in a movie or road kill. I am not a weak individual. If the two years I lived in Nepal had such a profound impact on my health and general well-being, how is life amidst such stressful conditions affecting Nepalis who continue to live in their indigenous environment?

For the past year, I have worked on characterizing the nutritional status and development of Nepali children less than two years of age. I described anemia, iron-deficiency, motor delays, and the effect of supplementation with iron-folate and zinc on information processing among these children, while I worked through my own nutritional deficiencies, injuries, and change in cognitive functioning as a result of receiving nutritional supplementation. Further research on the effects of supplementation on the development of young Nepali children needs to be considered in order to clarify the association between iron-folate and zinc supplementation on the development of locomotion and cognitive processes. We know maternal depression and poverty impact child development. How is the present socio-political environment impacting the health and well being of all Nepalis? What are the implications of an entire nation experiencing despair, depression, and anxiety? Because researchers are choosing to live in and travel in and out of the communities in which they are conducting their research, they have a responsibility to raise the awareness of policy makers to the broader implications of the effect of environmental factors on the health and well-being of their research subjects. This is a task that will mostly likely cause them to reach beyond their research domain, but is also one that has the potential to have a profound impact on society as a whole.

  ¶ 7:47 AM

  For the past few months, I have been pondering death. I have spent a lot of time reading and thinking about cadavers. Many people would find this morbid; however, for me it has been extremely cathartic. In addition to working through my dad’s death, I have been processing a horrific traffic accident I witnessed near my home in rural Nepal several months before I moved from the country. It took me a few weeks to be able to remove the sight from my mind. I did my best to bury it; however, as is often the case when we ignore troubling events, they continue to bubble to the surface when we least expect.

The first time I recognized I needed help was a few months after the incident, in May 2003 within a week of my return to the United States. I was watching a movie with my brother and sister at a theater in New York City. The movie opened with a man carrying a woman who had clearly been in an accident and then proceeded to replay the events for the benefit of the viewer. I had a panic attack. I wanted to exit the theater, but did not feel capable of crawling over the back of my seat. Instead, I remained next to my sister with my hands over my eyes and used the most soothing inner voice I could muster to calm myself. Only after talking with my brother and sister was I able to identify the traffic accident instead of the violent scene as being the trigger for the attack.

In July I drove to Connecticut to visit my godmother, her partner, and her kids. The drive took me 6 hours. As I was lying on their guest waterbed ready to sleep, my mind played a reel of the images of the road-kill I had seen next to the highway earlier that day. Somehow I had managed to register every limp animal carcass I passed.

In March 2004 as I was returning from a visit to Ithaca, NY, I encountered thick fog that did not allow me to see more than 15 feet in front of my car. I inched along the Pennsylvania highway until I was forced to stop. Cars were backed up for miles. Across the median on the other side of the highway, emergency vehicles were just arriving to assist the twenty plus cars that were involved in a huge accident that sprawled across the three lanes and into the median. I observed the carnage and remarked to my sister, with whom I was talking on the phone, that I felt calm. It was difficult to tell how serious the injuries were. I inched along through the fog for another two hours and kept thinking: “Wow, I must have worked through my post-traumatic stress!” The fog cleared and my emotional state simultaneously deteriorated. Tears welled up in my eyes and I felt so angry I wanted to scream. I wondered what to do with myself. Eventually, I settled down. The radio and time remaining in my journey helped me to feel calm.

When I was in Peru in November my brother and I arrived in a vehicle shortly after a child under the age of five years had been hit and killed along the side of a busy two-lane rural road. We did not see the body. I did not need to see that body. I saw enough young Nepali children’s bodies during the 2.5 years that I spent traveling between Kathmandu and our field site in Sarlahi District. In fact, when my friend Luke asked me about my trip to Peru, the first thing I told him was about this accident. I thought he would be able to relate. One cannot travel consistently in Nepal without viewing death.

Luke wasn’t in the vehicle when we, all 18 of us, drove through the Lalbundi main bazaar, but he was in the office when I arrived afterwards with my ashen face and sat with me in our favorite eating places on our way back to Kathmandu that evening when I could not eat anything. I wanted to protect everyone from the details, so I chose not to talk about the incident. I am ready now. It is time for me to release the memory. I have held on to it long enough.

It was Friday shortly after 1 PM. Work ended early to give our project vehicle time to return to Kathmandu. We --the fieldworkers devoted to assisting me with the data collection required for my research, my cook, and I --piled into the Toyota Land Cruiser and drove from our remote office in the field to the project headquarters 12 miles (40 minutes) away. We were animatedly talking from our squished positions on the inward-facing bench seats when we passed through the Lalbundi bizarre. There were several police in the road and a truck parked on the side, common sites in this busy area of the Terai. Blood was everywhere – blood and flesh. It looked like the remains of an animal. There was a man in the middle of the street cleaning up the mess, the mess that we later discovered was his mother. Our faces registered disbelief when we saw the mangled leg resting in the middle of the road and registered that we were looking at human road kill. A hand and foot were closer to our vehicle. I opened the window and thought I was going to vomit. I didn’t. None of us did. Instead we rode in silence. There was a little discussion about the scene after we returned to work on Monday, but that was it. What else could be said?

What happened? Apparently, a low caste woman in her 50s used her paycheck that Friday morning to buy alcohol. By mid-morning she was drunk, drunk and weaving along the side of the highway when the truck driver hit her and her sari snagged on the mechanical parts under the truck. She was dragged for more than 100 feet. There was still evidence of blood a week later when I rode my bike along that stretch of road.

I did not wake up this morning feeling ready to tell this story; however, I have been working on a blog entry about death for weeks. It was time. Recently, there have been so many new chapters beginning in my life that I believe it is time I set some of my old baggage free.
  ¶ 10:34 PM

  Remainder of old emails wrote home from Nepal...

March 29, 2002

Yesterday the Nepalis celebrated Holi, which is the festival of color. People smeared different colored tikka power on to their friends (and some unwilling strangers). Others threw (or pegged) water balloons. After venturing out mid-morning on my bicycle and being pegged by a balloon filled with black-tinted water, I kept my eyes peeled on the roofs high above the street and possible water balloons being held in people's hands ready to be released on to my head. Just when I thought everyone had packed up for the evening, I was doused by a bucket of water. At the time I was on the back of my friend's motorcycle. As we rounded a curve, I saw a woman approach her gate that led to the road. In her hands she held a medium-sized blue plastic bucket. Because I had been watching for people "playing" Holi all day, the thought occurred to me that she might try to throw the water on to the two of us on the bike, but I didn't have time to warn my friend or take any precautionary measures before the water hit me in the face and doused my clothing. Thank God it wasn't colored water that is so hard to get out of your clothes. It made me mad because I was cold for the next few hours; however, you have to admit it makes for a good story. This woman was probably taking all her aggressions out on us. Maybe it is a good thing that we gave her a venue for venting her frustrations! As a result of all that I experienced yesterday, I have concluded that I really don't like Holi all that much. Maybe next year I really need to get into it and paint my whole face red, gold, or white like many of the people I saw on the street. Maybe I just didn't give the day a chance.

March 22, 2002

Parvati is the sweeper in our office in Ishwarpur. We brought her with the rest of the DIMAG folks because she is great with the local mothers and kids, which helps us to make our clinic visits flow a little smoother. She is one of the few staff members that I have gotten to know outside the office because she spent the first two months living in the office with Kanchi and me after we moved to Ishwarpur. She has returned to her family's home because her 16 year old daughter has given birth to a baby girl and Parvati wants to make sure that this child lives (her daughter's other child died about a month after birth). Anyway, Parvati is an untouchable, meaning ancient cultural norms dictate what she can and can't do. Riding on the back of a motorcycle is something that she usually cannot do because once she (as an untouchable) has sat on the motorcycle no one else will use it. Our office has different rules, so it doesn't matter if she rides on our bikes. This afternoon I carried Parvati on the back of our office motorbike as I drove from Ishwarpur to Hariaun (45 minute slow motorcycle ride). The whole way she kept talking about how people were probably thinking that she should get off the bike because I am a "big/important person" and she is a "small/unimportant person". She kept telling me that they were laughing at her, a thought which made her feel both uncomfortable and exhilarated at the same time. I think they were laughing at me because people around here not only don't see foreigners often, but also females don't drive motorcycles in the Terai. When we approached her house, she became more and more excited at the idea that people would see her, Parvati, riding behind me on a MOTORCYCLE. It was really neat. I stalled out once when turning into her road (trying to deal with lots of traffic, animals, people, and Parvati's excitement and unbalanced weight), which drew even more attention to our activity. Her family and the neighbors came running out to greet her. Nice to see her return home in what she perceived to be style. The whole ride was an experience/adventure I don't think she will forget. For me, it was a lot of fun. Neat that I could do something as seemingly insignificant as offering someone else a ride and have it mean so much.

August 9, 2001

On Sunday I attended a festival in the Kathmandu Valley that focuses on remembering family members who have died in the past year. When we (visiting colleagues from Baltimore and I) arrived in Baktapur around noon to witness the ceremonies, the atmosphere was very festive. Male family members were dancing, singing, and playing instruments as they processed through the streets. Many of these guys were dressed in drag, which was funny to see in this conservative country. They had donned brightly colored saris and were pretending to kiss their male partners. I believe their gestures were supposed to represent Shiva and Parvati (god and consort). It was a hot day filled with happy sounds.

The procession was made up of family units who carried either towers or small chariots through the streets. Both had pictures of the people who had died and many were decorated with a fake bull's horns and a wig to represent a bull's tail. The bull, Shiva's vehicle, was an auspicious figure for the day. Apparently, the procession started out early in the morning in silence as the family members acknowledged their loss. However, as the day progressed (and many of the family members had imbibed some roxi- local alcohol) the mood became quite light. It culminated with even more dancing and playing before everyone packed up to go home well after dark -very late for Nepalis.
...

Here in Nepal the color of mourning is white. When family members die, it is the men who shave their heads and don white clothes to acknowledge their loss. Recently, one of the members of our office lost his father. He will wear white for one year in honor of his father. It always gives me pause to see other, familiar people around town wearing white. Two weeks ago, I walked into my favorite restaurant and noticed that the manager was wearing white. I was able to ask him what happened and found out that his mother died recently. Although I'm sure the acknowledgement gets old after a while, I wonder how this practice would affect us Americans if we adopted something similar. There are so many people around us who are in pain as a result of losing someone close. I wonder if we would be prompted to come together as a community if there were some signal, such as white clothing to clue us into the event. I wonder how it would make us Americans feel if we made ourselves vulnerable in this way. Do you think others would respond in a positive manner? The idea reminds me of something Margaret Atwood would tackle in one of her books, particularly from the female's perspective.
  ¶ 1:15 PM

  Email written home on May 5, 2003:

With only a week left in Nepal, I am acutely aware of my pending departure. Even if I were oblivious to the fact that I am leaving, I see the reality reflected in the faces of the people with whom I interact on a daily basis, especially my cook Kanchi. We are all about to experience significant change in our lives. Among my staff members four will lose their jobs, three will be promoted, and one will be demoted. Everyone who continues working will be absorbed into one of two larger studies that will continue for another two years. My staff members tell me that they are going to miss the camaraderie that they experienced being a part of DIMAG, my sub-study. I too will miss this a lot as I return to the solitary task of analyzing the data that I have spent the past two years collecting.

There is so much that I want to say, want to record for you in these final days; however, I want to leave this relatively short. Instead, I will share a story with you that makes me smile every time I think about it...

Saturday a week ago I took a taxi from my apartment to a friend's. After selling my bike with gears, I can no longer make it up the huge hill between our residences on my standard one-speed Indian cycle. I was tired after running the Hash and didn't want to walk my cycle up the huge hill after returning from dinner, so I found a taxi and hopped in. We had only traveled about 25 meters when the driver pulled over to the side of the road and stopped. What are we waiting for I thought? There wasn't another car in sight and there seemed no other logical reason for us to stop. I asked the driver. He responded by telling me in a matter-of-fact voice that a cat had crossed the road. Had I not spent time living in Nepal and had I not spent the majority of this time with Nepalis, I might not have understood what his words conveyed. In Nepal, when a cat crosses the road in front of a vehicle, the vehicle must stop to wait for another vehicle to cross the imaginary line and thereby remove the negative energy. Since it was dark, it wasn't likely that a car would be traveling on this road anytime in the very near future, and I was in a hurry I asked if it would be acceptable for me to remove the energy. I got out of the car and ran across the spot where the cat had crossed. The satisfied driver picked me up and we continued driving.

Although living in Nepal proved to be a whole lot more challenging than I ever anticipated, the feeling of satisfaction that I have felt from finding creative solutions to the most bizarre situations has been incredibly rewarding. I will miss Nepal after I go. Most importantly, I will miss the colleagues I have worked with and friends I have made over the past two plus years. Overall, this has been a tremendous learning and growing experience for me.

Note written home on February 22, 2003:

The evil eye is big in Nepal. The other day Kanchi's mother-in-law was walking a goat with a flip flop tied around its neck. I asked why the goat had the shoe around the neck and everyone told me it was because it was sick. What I found out later is that the shoe is meant to draw people's gaze downwards, thereby preventing any more evil spirits from affecting the health of the goat. When I saw the mother-in-law and goat a few days later, the shoe was gone and the goat was better.


Letter written home on February 20, 2003:

So, yesterday as I was dressed in my sari (after 45 minutes of watching Kanchi and her daughter wrap the folds of cloth around me and try to figure out how to dress such a tall woman, I decided that I wanted to have Kanchi's daughter take a picture of me all dressed up before leaving our residence on the grounds of the sugar mill. I walked into our common room and tried to pull one half of the two-part doors shut, but it wouldn't budge. When I looked up, I saw part of a snake resting on the top of the door at the corner near the wall. That was enough to call our manager downstairs for help. We ended up finding someone nearby to come up and kill the snake. Snakes are so common in this part of Nepal that even I have learned how to kill them. Knowing how to do something and wanting to do it are two different things, though. This is one of the top 4 poisonous snakes in the world. Thank God it is very shy and doesn't react to being provoked (i.e. having a door shut on its body). The thought crossed my mind that this might be the same snake that I saw in my room a year ago. It has probably been living in our residence all this time. It was twice the size of the one I saw before. Thank God it didn't bite me!

What an unusual morning. I trudged through thick mud through the pouring rain holding an umbrella with my right hand and my sari with my left to keep it clean as I made my way through the main bazaar. It was so late that my co-workers had left me, so I hopped on the back of the same manager's motorcycle and arrived at the wedding ceremony I was attending looking quite wind blown. Fortunately, my co-workers were able to help me dress again. What an excuse for being late I had: "I'm sorry that I wasn't able to meet you as planned. I was late because I was dealing with a krate in my residence."

Life has been so full since I returned to Nepal. Every day it seems there is something unusual happening ...
  ¶ 10:52 AM

  To continue with my project of posting old emails home to this site...

From January 24, 2001:

I seem to start all of my emails with a visual image, so I will give you one here. The sun is rising over Ishwarpur here in Sarlahi District of the Terai. It is a bright red sphere that I can see through the fog. It is a cold morning. People and animals are all seeking warmth. Although I have been living in this environment since I returned from the U.S. over three weeks ago, it is still hard for me to believe that an area that can get so hot (with temperatures above 120 F degrees) in the summer can also be cold. It is all relative, though. I'm sure the day-time temperatures will reach the 60s.

Soon my residence, which also serves as our office during the day, will be bustling with activity. The 12 fieldworkers will collect their palm pilots and will head to the field where they will observe for 3 hours babies between the ages of 4- and 16-months. The remaining fieldworkers will conduct interviews with mothers whose babies were observed last week. The 4 members of the clinic staff will await the arrival of mothers and babies from their homes. Today we are scheduled to collect blood and perform anthropometric measurements on these kids (length, weight, head circumference, skinfold thickness, and mid-upper arm circumference). Another worker will ride around the VDC (village development area) and will schedule kids to come in for developmental testing tomorrow. Because it is Thursday, 23 women will assemble at our VDC office to report which of the children of families living in Ishwarpur achieved a motor milestone in the past week (i.e. learned how to sit with or without support, creep or crawl, walk with or without support, run, jump, or stand on one foot). My study DIMAG (means mind in Nepali and stands for the Development of Motor skills, Articulations, and Growth) has finally started.

I keep thinking that I should feel ecstatic. Afterall, everything that I have been working towards since I moved to Nepal last March is finally coming together. The truth is that I have felt rather ungrounded returning from the United States. I had such a good time hanging out with friends and family that it felt rather unnatural to leave. It says a lot that I was secretly wishing that I would miss my plane the Thursday that I was scheduled to return. I've never missed a plane in my life. Wouldn't you know, because of the increased security in the wake of the tried-to-be-shoe bomber, delays caused by people trying to pass pocket knives and nail clippers through the security sensor, and the fact that the scientific instrument I was carrying with me was configured for a 220 V socket and I was not able to plug it into the standard U.S. 110 V outlet as the security guards insisted, my wish came true. I couldn't get another flight for a few days (or series of flights. It was actually the Bangkok leg of the trip that was fully booked.), so I decided to take advantage of the extra time to return to Baltimore for the weekend. I bought a one-way ticket, said goodbye to Mom, and returned to spend some more time with Kai. To delay my trip anymore would have meant delaying the inevitable. I left from Baltimore on Sunday morning December 30th feeling happy, at peace, and loved. It was a wonderful trip home. I can't believe that there was a time that I actually thought I need to stay in Nepal until my study was finished. Feeling your love and support is one of the best feelings in the world. Knowing that I have each of you in my life and will be able to return to my multiple homes in the United States before too much more time passes is a thought that will help me get through the next year of living in Nepal. THANK YOU.

Nepal has been in the world news a lot lately. The weekend after I returned the SAARC Conference for South Asian countries was hosted in Kathmandu. The Nepalis reacted by cleaning the city, building public parks (which weren't completed until a week after the conference closed), and covering all the billboards with white signs that issued a "Hearty Welcome to the Heads of State." Security was tight during this time. Military officials armed with machine guns and police with riffles were stationed all over the city and valley. Those of us in the capital city had to endure huge traffic jams and being trapped wherever we were when the official motorcades drove through the city. There was a lot of hope that the conference would give India and Pakistan an opportunity to work through some of their issues. Unfortunately, tensions between the two countries are still high. Colin Powell visited Kathmandu last Friday. He met the top Nepali officials and visited the Royal Palace, the scene of the June massacre.

Nepal is still experiencing a State of Emergency. Although everything feels a little calmer than it did before I left for the U.S. in December, we still have to endure police checks and other hassles. The Nepalis still don't have any rights. Last week the government came through my area of Sarlahi District and demanded that buildings that were built within 25 meters of the road be torn down. If they weren't taken apart within a week of the orders, the owners were supposed to pay RS 8,000 (about $100, which is 6 mo. salary for most people here). The East-West Highway now looks like a construction zone with rubble heaps filled with bricks, stone, and wood alongside it. Many buildings have exposed rooms and beams that were left when the front part was removed. Although the Nepalis weren't supposed to build in this area in the first place, it makes me sad that the Nepalis have no power to protest the orders.

The Nepali Maoists have fewer rights. One of the guys working for me, one of our observers, turned himself in to the police shortly before I returned. It is a good thing because the government has issued search and destroy orders, meaning they will attack and kill anyone they suspect of being a Maoist. My worker is relatively safe as long as he checks in with the local police on a daily basis. Apparently, the government focused on this area of the Terai after finding a huge arms cache between Hariaun (my Sunday night residence) and Ishwarpur (where I live and work during the week).

I remain safe and protected by my NNIPS colleagues. My biggest challenge is to maintain a positive attitude. Running and returning to Kathmandu (despite the 6.5+ hour drive each way) each weekend helps. This has turned into a longer message than I intended. Take good care. All the best for this New Year!




From an email to a friend living in Baltimore, MD; February 12, 2002:

So, you want to know about a day in the life? To share this with you, I will have to tell you about a day in each of the lives I lead here.

Monday morning: Wake up early in our residence on the grounds of the sugar mill (usually to horrible Hindu religious music) anywhere from 5:30-6:30 a.m. (the religious music starts from 4 a.m.) I've been sleeping a little later these winter months. If the phone line is working, the first thing i do is check my email. If not or after checking my email (don't get a lot on Sundays), I usually read whatever book I'm presently reading or write personal thoughts in the form of an email or something else. I don't usually do a lot of work on Monday mornings nor have I been running; although I like the fact that my route near the sugar mill is on the paved East-West Highway. Krishna our chiya (tea) guy comes anywhere from 6:30 a.m. to bring me and the field supervisors who live downstairs in Hariaun a glass of tea. I've grown accustomed to having chiya first thing in the morning. It's always brought to me. Talk about laziness! :) The project vehicle picks me up at 8 a.m. We drive near the sugar mill residence and honk for Kanchi (whose husband works as a peon for the mill. that's his official title. means bringer and offerer of tea and handy man.) Kanchi is my didi (older sister). She comes to Ishwarpur with me to cook and clean and otherwise offer wonderful personal interaction. The vehicle drops me at an eating stall across from the office, where I ate all my meals for the first four months I was living in Hariaun and where I now eat breakfast on Mondays. Before meeting the vehicle and all my DIMAG workers at 8:30, I shovel down as much rice, dal, and curried vegetables that I can. I'm usually hungry because I don't eat a lot on the weekends and we often return to Hariaun too late on Sunday evenings to eat a big dinner. At 8:30 a.m. the vehicle leaves for Ishwarpur. There are usually about 10 to 12 of us crammed into it. The ride is about 40 minutes (driving fast). Everyone talks a mile a minute. I usually stare ahead at the road and think about the intricacies of work. (I'm often very quiet here in Nepal.)

Monday mid-morning - Friday afternoon: In Ishwarpur we work a full day from 9 a.m. to 5 p.m. Sometimes people finish and leave earlier, especially during these winter months when it gets dark around 6:15 p.m. For the past 6 weeks, I have remained in the office to do my work. After everyone goes, I tie up the loose ends with work and try to get out and run. Just in the past few months, I have started running in the afternoons. The Nepalis don't like this because they believe morning is a better time to go. You'll read about my mornings. I prefer evenings when my brain is full and I often need to refuel. I run the same route and listen to the same mixed tape every time that I go. Usually, I only have time (and space) to run between 4 and 5 miles. Along the way, I pass up to 100 kids who sometimes run behind, with, and in front of me in small groups. They squeal and seem delighted by my presence. Depending on my emotional state, my feelings range from being excited to see them to wishing that I were alone and could run without experiencing reactivity. Just getting out to run is a feat for me, so I am happy when I go.

I return to a somewhat worried Kanchi because it is dusk and not safe in her eyes (or anyone else's in this weird political time) for me to be out. I feel safe and know that everyone knows where I am and won't be harmed as long as I stay on the main dirt, rocky road. If the phone line is working, I usually try to get on line to send work-related and personal emails. If someone is on instant messenger, I love chatting. Kanchi often comes in to watch me. When the phone line isn't working, I work or read my pleasure reading book of the week. Some weeks I read a lot. Others I read very little. It all depends on what is going on with work, my energy level, and my emotional state.

Kanchi finishes cooking dinner around 6:45 to 7:15 p.m. Because I find rice too filling at night, Kanchi makes me roti, which is a lot lot the Kenyan chapatti. I eat this with takari (same type of dish served in the morning. Just means curried vegetables). Kanchi and I usually talk for a while before I go back to doing more of whatever project or relaxation activity I started earlier in the evening. We say goodnight around 8:30. Kanchi meditates for a few hours, while I do what I am doing. Usually I go to bed between 9:45 and 11:45.

In Ishwarpur I wake up between 5:30 and 6:30. Again, if the phone line is working, I check my email before doing anything else. Morning is my favorite time of day. It is also when I have the most energy and am most productive. Although I sometimes get out and run in the mornings, I prefer to write about life here or work. The few hours that I have before my workers arrive are the most precious hours in the day for me. I love watching the sun rise, the animals being led out of their stable, and the morning beginning as it does with such a bang here in the field. The rice and takari that I eat twice a day usually messes up my stomach, so I often have to run to the bathroom (another reason I don't like to run in the mornings). I wait until the last minute to take my bucket bath, shortly before 9 a.m. when everyone begins work. These days, since it isn't scorching hot like the summer months, I have to spend some time boiling water, so I can bath in luxury. I emerge from my room with wet hair, wearing my shalwar kamez around 9 a.m. ready to greet everyone. When I am really organized, I eat before 9. This is hard though. Usually I eat between 8:45 and 9:15 a.m. Breakfast consists of rice, curried vegetables, and dal. I only eat twice a day, like everyone else here, so I am usually hungry after work. Sometimes Kanchi makes me a snack after work. Her soybean snack is my favorite.

Friday afternoon - evening: Fridays are a little different. I leave Ishwarpur in our project vehicle around 12:30 or 1 p.m. The driver stops at the sugar mill to drop off Kanchi before we proceed to the Hariaun office. There I meet Shakaya, our field supervisor, and anyone else planning to travel back to KTM with us. Shakaya and I are the two regulars who make the trip weekly. Others come and go. This week our field manager guy from KTM, Shakaya's boss named Sharada Ram, will be traveling with us. When he is in the car, I sit in the back. Otherwise, the guys always give me the front seat. Bringing back my Crazy Creek camping chair has made all the difference. The other guys are happy to let me sit up front, so they can use it. When I have to sit in back, I find that it keeps my back happy. Anyway, the vehicle leaves Hariaun between 2 and 2:30 p.m. on Friday afternoons. Usually it is laden with data and takari (raw vegetables that are cheaper to buy in the Terai than KTM) for some of the KTM staff. These days we have been stopping in Hetauda, which is 1.5 hours from Hariaun. There we have a snack. I usually eat an omelet that is put on top of beaten rice and sometimes accompanied by soybeans. Shakaya and the driver eat buffalo momos (dumplings). We get back into the car and drive straight to KTM. If it is late we sometimes stop for bhat (rice and dal and curried vegetables. dal bhat is the local dish as you know and I keep describing.). Usually we try not to stop. There are usually enough delays anyway. I never know when we'll get back, but am happy if it is before 9:30 or 10 p.m. We take turns with respect to who is dropped off first. I usually climb up the five flights of stairs to my apt. and get on email. It is cheap for me in KTM and the connection is better than the one in the field. Lately, I've had a lot of trouble getting a line here in the field, so I love my time on Friday evenings. Having said this, sometimes I have trouble getting on line from KTM. I usually unpack and go to sleep between 10 and 11:30.

Saturdays and Sundays: On Saturday morning I wake up and (yes, you guessed it) check my email. I use this time to catch up on messages or pay my bills, balance, my checkbook, (look into paying my taxes, etc) on the web. I make a cup of coffee and savor every sip because it is usually only in KTM that I drink coffee. Sometimes I eat a snack. Usually, I keep myself busy (in the summer I wake up and go swimming.) Mid-morning I head to Mike's Breakfast, which is across town and serves an American breakfast. It isn't a Saturday unless I can go to Mike's. When Gwendolyn or Darrell are in town we travel together by taxi. Otherwise, I bike. I usually hang out at Mike's for an hour or two and return to my apt. Although I always have errands to run, most stores are closed on Saturday mornings, so it is always a challenge figuring out what is open. I need to be back in my apt. around 2 p.m. to prepare for the Hash. Lately, I have been getting a ride, which beats biking. They are always quite far and often demanding, so biking isn't a lot of fun. The Hash begins at 3 p.m. (will change to 3:30 soon and then 4 p.m. when the weather gets warmer and the days are longer). I usually don't return to my apt. until 6:30 or 7 p.m. Each week I look forward to the Hash and love both the social interaction that it provides and opportunity to see areas of the KTM Valley that I otherwise would not have an opportunity to see. Afterwards, I sometimes meet a friend for dinner at a local restaurant. When Gwendolyn is in town from the US, we always manage to have a fun girls night on the town.

Sunday morning I wake up early, around 6:30 (same as every other day of the week, including Saturdays). I tie up work on email (bills, check book, etc.) and prepare for leaving. Sometimes I run. I always wash my dirty Hash and street clothes, unless I did it the night before. It is always a race against the clock. I leave around 11 a.m. for the office. There I make sure I have all the forms and other office stuff that I requested to be sent down. The driver and I leave around 11:30 to pick up Shakaya and head back down to the Terai. Because I don't eat a big breakfast on Sunday mornings (bread or cereal) and often don't eat dinner on Sunday evenings, I have made a point to stop to eat dal bhat at a really good bhat place about an hour from KTM. The last few weeks, the vehicle has stopped and the driver and I eat together before proceeding. Picture me eating bhat with my hands with lots of other Nepali men. I'm the only foreigner (but am usually the only foreigner). We usually arrive in Hariaun between 6 and 7:30 p.m. Because I am usually tired and find the Hariaun residence somewhat barren and lonely, I often go to sleep very early, between 8:30 and 9:30 p.m.

This is my week. The only thing I haven't mentioned is music, which is very important to me. I brought a lot of CDs with me, which make me feel calm and comforted. If you have made it to the end of this, you now have a pretty good idea of how things flow for me. There are always deviations; however, my life is fairly structured here, much more than it is in the U.S. Any more questions? :)




The following email was written to family and friends after I had had amoebic dyssentary for the previous 6 months and giardia before that. I was incredibly malnourished and thin. The political situation in Nepal had worsened and I was ready to evacuate from any of my three residences. Many of the expatriots living in Kathmandu had packed their bags and left. Expats living in India had recently been evacuated because of the nuclear threat that escalated with the heightened tensions between India and Pakistan. At the time that I wrote this letter, I felt scared, uncertain, ill, and depressed.

June 10, 2002:

Hi!

A few weeks ago, I started a group email to all of you. The first paragraph described in intricate detail baby chicks crossing the dirt road that runs by our office and my weekday residence in Ishwarpur. They follow their mother hen everywhere in order to stay out of harm's way. Although I quite like the paragraph and believe it accurately describes life as it occurs outside "The Pink Palace," it wasn't really what I wanted to be writing to all of you. What I want to talk with you about in this group email is the idea of home and the energy that it has taken for me to adapt to my home in Nepal over the past 6 months.

I keep thinking that I am leading a cushy life here in Nepal (everything is relative). After all, I have electricity on most days, running water almost whenever I want it, a phone line when it works and access to my loved ones via email and Instant Messenger. I have privacy and use it to spend time seeking refuge in books, writing my thoughts and feelings via email, and wearing shorts and a tank top on hot days. I keep thinking how fortunate I am compared to the older anthropologists (i.e.. Margaret Mead) who had few of these luxuries.

I don't think anyone who has seen my setup would describe my life as luxurious. I have had to deal with rats, snakes, and roaches in my room. For those of you who know me well, dealing with roaches is something that causes me particular anxiety. Now that it is the hot season, I return to and from KTM weekly with prickly heat rashes, mosquito bites, and headaches. In the past 6 months, I have had giardia once and amoebic dysentery twice. For some reason (hopefully, only related to not treating my water in KTM properly -- a problem I have since rectified), I can't seem to shake this latest bout of dysentery. Despite all of these things, I believe my biggest challenge has been dealing with the isolation that I feel from both the Nepalis and expatriates due to the nature of my work and fact that I spend most of my time in rural Nepal.

Recently, I have really struggled with my reasons for moving to Nepal. The country has been experiencing a civil insurgency since I moved here last year. Now, one of the hottest news items is India and Pakistan's inability to settle the Kashmir "issue". In the past week, 60,000 expatriates from countries around the globe have been returning home, in what some people think was more of a political statement than fear of pending war; however, newspapers from the US contradict this idea. I have received all kinds of emails from many of you expressing concern that I am still in Nepal. Why? You ask. Wouldn't it be better if I came home to wait until the political situation becomes calmer? In addition to those emails, I have also received requests for another group email. Why aren't you writing?-- is the implication.

Why haven't I written? Initially (winter & spring), I didn't know how to write about the daily reports of human right's atrocities that I was hearing. Because many of the hard cold facts of the violence occurring here in Nepal on the part of both the government and the Maoist "terrorists" did not find their way into the international press, I worried that writing about it might make you fear for my safety. Because what was happening around me remained at the forefront of my mind for many months, I didn't feel capable of writing about anything else. Now that news of the tension in India and Pakistan has reached just about everyone I know, I find myself thinking predominately about work. I guess after spending so many months fearing further delays to my study and having to pack up everything to go home without even getting DIMAG (name of my sub-study means "mind" in Nepali) off the ground, I no longer fear not being able to finish my work. I have collected much (not all) the data that I will need for my dissertation.

So, why don't I go home? After all, Jim (my advisor and boss) has told me that I have trained our staff well enough that they can carry out without me. I think what is happening within my mind is that I am just now feeling that I am getting to a place that I can begin going after much of what I moved to Nepal to do. Although I have spent the past 7 years working towards collecting data in a developing country, I believe my presence in this country is less about collecting my data than it is about my growth as a female scientist. Many of the books I have selected to read in the past month, written by female anthropologists including Mary Catherine Bateson, Margaret Mead's daughter, have helped to reinforce this feeling. I am tired of worrying about politician's decisions that I cannot control.

No matter how confident I am beginning to feel about the career choice I have made and will continue to develop, I am feeling incredibly torn between my desire to get as much out of my experience here in Nepal and to connect with family and friends at home. Presently, I am feeling like the rope in tug-of-war, not happy about the isolation I am feeling, but not really sure what to do about it other than to pursue these goals I have set for myself and to take solace in the idea that I will be in the US for three months next fall. This will occur before I return to Nepal for an additional 4 months to see my study come to an end. I understand we all have choices. Sometimes the answers are just hard to find.

So, I offer these thoughts to you as a portal into my mind. After I wrote the above, I encountered two Peace Corps volunteers while I was traveling back to the field. In the 20 minutes that we had together, I discovered that I am not alone in my feelings; they talked about their lives also being difficult and full of challenges. They are prepared to stick it out though for the year they have remaining in this country. I believe that my missive for the next few months will be to find more people like me in this country to whom I can relate and talk about my experiences. That alone would make me feel a lot less solitary.

I hope this email finds you in good health and spirits.

With much love to you all,
Emily

  ¶ 8:32 PM

  Today I received pictures from another graduate student who just moved back to the US from Nepal. Kanchi's house is finished. It cost $2700 and took over a year to complete. The project was a success. Big WAHOO!

Letter written home to my teacher friend who rallied the entire 6th grade at her school to raise money for Kanchi's house, September 22, 2002.

In Nepali “Kanchi” means youngest daughter. Kanchi was the youngest daughter of five kids. She had three older brothers and an older sister. Her sister died before Kanchi turned five. Her oldest brother died in July. Her two other brothers farm land about an hour by bike from Kanchi’s residence on the grounds of the sugar mill in Hariaun, which is in Central Eastern Nepal in a flat, fertile area called the Terai. Kanchi’s given name is Luxmi Tamang. Luxmi is the Hindu goddess of wealth. Tamang is the name of a caste, her cast before she was married. While most people remain in the caste to which they were born throughout their lives, Kanchi changed hers by marrying a man from a different one, and in doing so elevated her status. Of the four Hindu caste groupings, Kanchi moved from the third to the first. Now she is a Brahman and is known as Luxmi Chimuriya. People who are close to her call her Kanchi. Others refer to her as “Didi”, which is a generic term for older sister. I call her Kanchi Didi because she functions as my older sister, helping me to cook and clean. As I would behave with an older sister in the US, I like to tease Kanchi and make her laugh. She is the one Nepali with whom I have managed to form a strong loving bond in the 18 months that I have lived in this country. I am going to really miss her when I leave the country.

When you ask Kanchi how old she is she will tell you that she is probably in her late 40s, but she does not know. She is not alone in not knowing her age. In a country where most births occur at home and birth dates are not recorded, people often forget the exact date and year that a person was born. Last year when we (project organized by Johns Hopkins University School of Public Health) conducted a census in this region of Nepal to identify potential subjects for our research on child nutrition, our field workers encountered many parents who were not able to tell us the ages of their school-aged children. Eighty-five percent of men and women living in this area of the Terai do not know how to read or write. Their lack of schooling, coupled with a Nepali calendar that is based on the lunar cycle and changes each year, makes it difficult for people to remember birth dates. My guess is that Kanchi is in her early 50s and her husband is a few years older, maybe in his mid to late 50s.

For the first 30 years of Kanchi’s life, she worked the land. She found food for animals; collected firewood for cooking; herded goats, cows, and water buffalo; and planted and harvested rice and other crops. She started working as soon as she was able, beginning with small chores and gradually assuming more responsibility. Her parents having never gone to school did not see the benefit in sending her or her brothers and sisters, so Kanchi never learned to read or write. Just last year when she started working for me did she start learning how to connect sounds with letters and words.

Around the age of 18 she married a man from her village. Although most people in Nepal have arranged marriages, Kanchi’s was a love marriage. She and her husband were neighbors. After they were married, Kanchi moved in with her husband and his family, as is customary in this country. Kanchi’s husband’s family members, like hers, were subsistence farmers. They grew enough to feed the family and a little more to sell in order to pay for supplies. Kanchi’s husband’s mother died when he was young, so his father remarried. Although the responsibility for the family fell upon Kanchi’s husband’s shoulders once his father died, since he is the oldest son, his stepmother took control over the house, land, and animals. One day she decided to sell everything for food. When I asked Kanchi about what happened, Kanchi replied that the step mother sold everything for food, ate the food, and the family was left with nothing – no house, no land, no animals, no means of support.

Kanchi’s husband found a job as a peon in the local sugar mill and moved his family into housing provided by his employers. They were given two rooms in a long, one-story building that houses about 40 families. That was about 17 years ago. Three of Kanchi’s four children married, moved out of the residence, and had children. Her oldest daughter lives about 5 minutes away. One of her sons lives in another set of two rooms in the same sugar mill residence. The other son lives a couple of hours away. Her youngest daughter, Goma is in the ninth grade in school. To date, Goma has studied longer than any of her family members. Kanchi and her husband would like to see her continue in school. For the past year, the family has used the money they would normally pay to have milk in their morning tea to pay for Goma’s school fees.

In the past seven years, Kanchi has worked for three other students. Two were in the area at the same time. The other only stayed for about 3 months and didn’t arrive until a few years after the others left. The work has not been consistent; however, the income that Kanchi has earned from cooking and cleaning has been used to supplement her husband’s meager salary. There are always unexpected expenses. Last spring both Kanchi and her husband needed medical attention. The doctors’ visits and prescribed medicine cost the equivalent of several months of Kanchi’s income. The family has so many needs. Sometimes when there isn’t enough money they go hungry. I worry about leaving Nepal in May 2003. At that time, Kanchi will be without a job. Her husband will only be able to work for a few more years in the sugar mill, since the mill requires its employees to retire at 60 years of age. Presently, the entire family – both sons included when they are not able to find steady work- depend on Kanchi’s husband to provide for them. His salary of $25 a month just isn’t enough to meet the family’s needs, nor is it enough to put money into savings for a house. When Kanchi’s husband is forced to retire the family will be asked to leave their present home. For the second time in Kanchi’s life she could find herself homeless.

Because I love Kanchi Didi and fear for her well being and that of her family’s after I go, I have decided to pour my energy into raising money for her to build a house for her family. Knowing that she had her own place, where she could be secure would make me feel a whole lot better about going. I have not told her about my plan; although, I have wanted to when I keep hearing her and her husband talk about their need for a house and worry that they will never be able to build one. My idea is to raise as much money as possible while I am home in the US between October and December. I believe $1000 will cover the cost of installing a water pump to be used outside the house and the price of wood and labor for building a two-story wooden (depending on how much money I bring back with me, there will probably be some mud used in the house construction) house on the land Kanchi’s husband bought a couple of years ago. Kanchi, her husband, her daughter Goma, her son and his wife and two kids, and her husband’s stepmother will live in the house. Upon my return from the US, I will present Kanchi’s husband with a verbal description of what has transpired and will parcel out the money as is required (to make sure that it is used for the house and nothing else). I understand that it does not take long to build a house once the money has been raised. Before I move from Nepal I would like to participate in the blessing ceremony that certainly will be performed, that is performed for all new abodes, and take pictures of the completed house so I can show everyone who contributed towards the project what their money bought.

I hope in sharing Kanchi’s story with people in the US that I will not only be able to raise money to house Kanchi and her family, but also that I will be able to educate people about Nepal. The country has been in the news quite a lot over the past two years. From the demise of the majority of the royal family last year to the ongoing civil insurgency caused by the Maoists to the heavy monsoon rains that killed hundreds of people and destroyed crops this past summer, Nepalis are facing difficult times. While it would not be possible for me to help everyone that is in need, I do hope that I can facilitate offering some security to a single family that has touched my life.

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Being Em, May 24th, 2004 entry:

The weekend before last, a year after I returned from Nepal, Luke, Britta and I toasted with champagne the completion of our data collection. These two students just returned to the US after finishing their projects in Nepal. Although we all spent different periods of time in the 'Mountain Kingdom' and engaged in different projects while we were there, we share common experiences, including our individual when-I-was-close-to-a-bomb stories. At different points, we each questioned whether we would actually be able to complete our data collection. The challenges were numerous: strikes, riots, bombs, illness, isolation, mechanical failures, heavy monsoons, landslides, extreme heat and cold, curfews, military checks, chaos in the wake of the royal family's assignation, damage to the infrastructure, etc. Our reality was so unbelievable that we would be hard-pressed to exaggerate our experiences. Despite everything, we beat the odds by completing our research. It felt so good to mark our reunion on American soil with champagne.

Shortly before Luke left Nepal, he photographed my cook Kanchi's house for me. Seeing the pictures early last week almost moved me to tears. They marked the first piece of evidence I had received that the house-building project is complete.

When I first moved to Sarlahi District, I resisted the idea of hiring a cook. It did not seem to make sense when our two supervisors were traveling for their morning and evening meals to a food stall that was managed by our night watchman and his daughter. Initially, sitting with them provided me with an opportunity to talk about the day and connect outside of work. As time passed, I began to listen more and talk less as they slowly became drunk night after night. It is customary in Nepal to eat protein and consume alcohol before dal bhat (the traditional lentil, rice, and vegetable meal) is served, so I waited while they drank their cocktails and ate their meat. After four months, I reached a point where I couldn't stand it any longer. Fortunately, the timing coincided with my move from Hariaun to Ishwarpur, to the Pink Palace.

Food preparation in Nepal can take hours. Although there is less work involved in preparing a vegetarian diet, time is still needed to buy perishables at the local bi-weekly market, sort the rice and lentils, remove the small rocks that were harvested with the grain and legumes, mix and roll out the dough for the rotis (flat bread) we ate for dinner, and wash and dice the vegetables. In the area in which I was living everything came directly from the fields. We bought our rice from one of our worker's neighbors and our milk from a Muslim neighbor who owned a water buffalo. For a while we grew our own spinach, pumpkin, eggplant, and tomatoes. It was Kanchi's job to manage the food. Sometimes I accompanied her to the local market or cooked when I wanted something other than dal bhat; however, she did the majority of the work. She prepared our (hers and mine) morning tea and two meals a day. I had heard about Kanchi from two other graduate students who hired her for the two years they were collecting data in the field, but I did not know how to contact her.

A couple of weeks before my move, after I had already arranged for someone else to help me cook in my new residence, Kanchi appeared in Hariaun in our office residence on the grounds of the sugar mill one morning before work. She and her smile waltzed into my living space. The click was immediate and I hired her on the spot. For almost two years, she worked for me in both Ishwarpur and Hariaun. Although my primary residence was in the 'Pink Palace' in Ishwarpur, the unstable political situation forced me to spend many evenings in Hariaun. The latter was safer. It was also where visitors from Kathmandu and the US stayed when they came. The distance between the two residences was about 12 miles. It took me almost two hours to run, an hour to bike, 45 minutes to drive our office motorcycle, and 35 minutes to ride in our project vehicle between the two residences. Flexibility was the key to survival in Nepal. Kanchi was flexible. We had a good time.

Together we laughed a lot until life became more serious. I used to entertain her (and the neighbors) with my goat and water buffalo sounds. After work I engaged our landlord's goats and young water buffalo in conversation. Everyone laughed when the animals responded. After dark before we went to sleep we would walk to the roof and look at the stars. "Tin tara" (the three stars on Orion's belt) was the object of our gaze night after night. It is what connects us today when there is so much distance between us. I feel confident that Kanchi thinks of me when she sees those three stars shining over the sugar mill. Here in the US her image floods my mind when I see the stars shining over the row houses in my neighborhood. When I think about it, I can hear the snorting of the old bull with cataract in Ishwarpur who used to wander up and down the street after dark sniffing for cows to impregnate. The wonderful thing about the mind is that it makes time travel possible.

I love Kanchi. While I was in Nepal, I feared for her well-being after I left. With the political situation as bad as it is, it is not likely that another student will travel to Nepal for some time. Kanchi's husband has a solid job working as a peon (official title for tea bearer/handy man), but the $25 he makes each month is not enough to feed Kanchi, their daughter Goma, his mother, and his son's family when his son is not able to find work. The extended family is malnourished. I wanted to do something before I left that would help to sustain them in the years ahead. Raising money to build the family a house seemed to be the answer. There is absolutely no way that they would have been able to do this on their own. In only a few years, Kanchi's husband will face mandatory retirement from the sugar mill. Without a house of their own, the family would be homeless. Initially, I thought I only needed to raise $1000. My intention was to build a traditional two-story wooden house; however, after talking to the family I realized a nicer concrete one would be more practical. Wooden houses require a considerable amount of upkeep. Each year fresh cow dung must be applied to the outside walls to keep the house insulated. Without a cow Kanchi foresaw this as being a problem. Besides she and her husband are only getting older. We settled on building three concrete rooms, two of which would be separated by a narrow hallway that could be used for storage. We also installed a water pump and a detached bathing area and toilet. Later the family will try to build a nicer kitchen area than the make-shift wooden shelter they have at present. I raised a total of $2700 from friends and family for the project.

Building this house was not easy. We had to keep it a secret for fear that the Maoists would destroy it if they found out it was paid for with American and British funds. Only Kanchi's family, Luke and Britta, our Nepali director, and my Nepali co-worker and friend Shishir were aware of the funding source. With a local rate of illiteracy over 85%, the majority of the people in the study area could not read or write. Fortunately, they could add. Every few weeks I withdrew money from the ATM in Kathmandu and brought it with me to the field. We in our project vehicle passed through the numerous military check posts on the road to and from the Terai, of which Sarlahi District is a part, without incident. One evening we were forced to stop for the night in a small town on the other side of a forested area from our field site when the road was closed after bandits had attacked vehicles two previous nights on this particular stretch of road. There weren't enough beds at the 'lodge' in which we stayed, so I spread out on the floor (where I think it was cleaner) between the two beds occupied by two of our Nepali senior staff with the money tucked inside my clothes.

I gave Kanchi's husband the money as he needed it. Neither one of us wanted it to be stolen from his two room residence in the crowded sugar mill quarters. He used it to purchase sand, gravel, bricks, cement, steel rods, windows, and other supplies for the house. He and his son spent their mornings and evening hours talking with people in the local market and bargained with them to get the cheapest price for the house materials and labor. The workmen could not work during political strikes, when the concrete was drying, or we were waiting for supplies. Months passed and I began to wonder if we would ever finish the house. More and more money was needed to complete it, so I spent evenings writing friends and family asking for donations. I feel so fortunate to have connected with so many generous people who believed in the project.

On my last day in the field I gave Kanchi's husband all the remaining money I had. He was not sure whether it would be enough to finish the project. Kanchi wrote me in December and told me the family had contributed some of their own money, but there was still work to be done. Until last Monday when I saw the pictures Luke took before he left, I envisioned an unfinished house. I worried that the extreme weather in Sarlahi would destroy what we had started. I worried that I had asked for all this money from the close friends and family members had ultimately let them down by trying to create something grander than I had money to purchase. I worried in vain. The house is complete. It is a beautiful, white concrete structure with red trim and a red metal gate to keep the family's goat and future chickens inside the compound. Big WAHOO!!!

It has taken me a year to be able to talk about Kanchi. I suppose knowing that she has some future security in the form of the house helps me to breathe deeper. Someday I will return for a visit. Although it will not be the same as it was when we lived together, seeing Kanchi and her family will be meaningful nonetheless. There are some remarkable women in this world, some true survivors. Kanchi is one of them.
  ¶ 2:05 PM

  From a letter home dated May 6, 2003:

A blind man stumbled into our compound several weeks ago. I'm not sure why wandering nomads have latched on to our residence; however, we have seen our fair share over the past 20 months. This blind man was attracted by the sound of a wedding that was taking place across the street in a poor Muslim family's compound. He entered the open gate and sat down beside the concrete porch that has housed other travelers. Wearing a coat even though the temperature was warm he sat sprawled with his two burlap sacks resting beside him and began to cry out. "I am blind and have no family. I am hungry. Please give me food." He yelled for 2 hours before someone responded by giving him a plate of food (complete with meat, which is a real delicacy in this area of Nepal) from the wedding.

I didn't really know what was happening until work ended and my cook Kanchi told me that the older man had been crying out asking for food throughout much of the afternoon. After our workers left and the office was quiet, I observed that he had pulled out several empty bottles that he wanted filled with water. Several curious people crowded around. Many kids were scared of him. He cried out that he needed water, so one of our remaining workers and I helped him. I remembered how good some of the homeless people feel in the US when they have a chance to bathe, so I brought him a bucket of water and soap for him to wash his face, hair, and feet. It wasn't appropriate for me to help him wash his body. Some people would have argued that it wasn't appropriate for a foreign woman to help him at all.

What I loved seeing was the man's smile after he washed and the neighbors' response. Once the neighbors realized that there was nothing to fear, that this man was just like them, they began offering him things. He asked for a cigarette, so one woman gave him one that she had stashed in a bag that she took to the fields to work that morning. Someone else gave him his evening meal. When the blind man lay back content as the village quieted down and began singing songs from the hill areas of Nepal, the man who takes care of the water buffalo, cows, and goats in the compound told him to keep singing, that he was listening and enjoyed the music. A day later when it was time for him to go (he spent the day after the day I have described sleeping), I heard a woman on the street invite him in for his morning tea.

Although some time has passed, I keep thinking about the events on this afternoon that the blind man found us. What strikes me the most is how essential it is to the man's survival that he let others know exactly what he needs. Each day he has to repeat his request in a new place. I wonder if others are scared of people like the blind man because they recognize that they could be the beneficiary of equal bad luck some day. Also, I wonder if they just don't know how to initiate contact. I guess we are all waiting for someone else to take the first step. Anyway, these events highlighted for me the importance of communicating with others. If we want others to help us, it is important for us to communicate our needs. These are words I keep telling myself, a person who has a very hard time asking for help.
  ¶ 10:00 PM

  Why is this blog called Ma Om Shanti? This was the name a tarot reader in the Kathmandu Valley gave me in December 2001.

Ma = feminine; Om = universal sound; Shanti = peace

Rough translation = peaceful woman

  ¶ 5:19 PM

  I'm beginning this blog with a series of old emails from my first year in Nepal, when I was still viewing the culture with virgin eyes before I got sick from my first of many parasites.

Group Emails Written to Family and Friends from Nepal
January – November 2001

January 1, 2001
Laying Low in Kathmandu

Happy New Year!!!

I send you greetings from a country that doesn't follow our Western calendar. Today, New Year's Day, would be like any other business day if the city were not in the midst of political turmoil. It has been six days since Indian film star Hritik Roshan was rumored to have stated that he does not like Nepal or Nepali people. The Nepali Indian community believes Roshan was framed, which is plausible. The riots that erupted last week were clearly prompted by more than a comment from a film star.

A political group called a bhand (strike) for today and tomorrow, which means everything is closed and neither private (save motorcycles) nor public transportation is operating. People who deviate from the tacit bhand rules risk being stoned. Although the violence has subsided, I believe people are still demonstrating against the government. This morning as I walked to my Nepali teacher's house, a number of police vehicles carrying battalions of officers holding clubs and guns sped by me. I also saw two Red Cross jeeps and two buses carrying Nepali men and women (demonstrators? couldn't read the banner draped across the front of the bus). There has been a lot happening here. If the Prime Minister isn't overthrown before I return to the U.S. in mid-January, I wouldn't be surprised if his government is ousted at some point while I am living here. Overall, the Nepalis are not happy with the democratic government that has been in office for the past ten years.

In honor of His Majesty the King's auspicious (everything in this country is either described as being auspicious or inauspicious) 56th birthday, DHL held the First Annual Half-Marathon National Championships on Saturday afternoon. Signs were posted in several places around the city announcing that the event was open to both men and women. Sick of having to wake up before dawn to run, needing a boost to my mood (having to deal with tear gas and crowds fleeing from the police and rioters made me feel a little down last week), and hoping to meet a few members of the expatriate running community, I decided to enter the competition. It turned out that I was the only foreigner who ran. (Thinking I needed to dress in a culturally appropriate manner, after all it was the King's birthday; I was also the only person who did not wear shorts.) My Nepali instructor, Sushila, accompanied me to the start. Excited and not really sure what kind of running I do in the U.S., Sushila told many of the people who asked about me that I was a professional. They soon found out the truth.

Sizing everyone before the beginning of the race, I thought I had a chance to do well. Although I hadn't run over seven miles in a month, I had been running regularly and have some experience running half-marathons. Unlike the East Africans, Nepalis are not known for their running prowess. Dilapidated facilities, a lack of funds devoted to athletics, and poor nutrition keep them from doing well in international competitions. My goal was to stay focused and to finish, despite whatever happened. The fifty-four other competitors started the race at break-neck speed, which put me in last place within 200 meters of the start. Twenty-five runners ended up dropping out of the race; however, I maintained my position at the end of the competitors.

Although I was conscious of what I was experiencing, it wasn't until I was taking a shower after the race that I realized how fortunate I was to be last. Had I been in any other position, the race would have been a completely different experience. Picture the following scene...

The street is crowded with vehicles (trucks, motorcycles, taxis, jeeps, and auto-rickshaws), most of which are spewing black exhaust. Both the street and sidewalk are crowded. After three and a half days of inactivity due to the riots, people are scurrying around trying to conduct their business. It is late afternoon, which in Kathmandu is a peak time for activity. In the middle of this scene, there is a lone runner who is accompanied by a police motorcycle escort, two young men on bicycles, several other motorcycles, and an ambulance - the sweep vehicles. The runner is I. I'm running in the middle of all this traffic and activity. The policeman and ambulance periodically honk to get people to move out of my way. As I pass just about everyone and everything stops. Only some people clap, but most people are interested in what is happening. As I ran on two of the busiest streets in the city, I was buffered by the support vehicles. Initially, I kept thinking, "Oh my God, what am I doing! Am I going to make it to the finish line?" My mouth was parched about 30 minutes into the race and I really wanted to stop; however, I knew that if I stopped people would talk about the foreigner who quit. There was no way that I could do anything but continue. I ran by hundreds of policemen carrying clubs and guns prepared to squelch any demonstrations. I ran through a crowded market, which is usually so packed that people have trouble navigating through the crowds. It was truly breathtaking to see the people part for me. I ran and ran and ran, and tried to ignore the people, the exhaust, the huge and many hills, and the comment to go "fast" issued by one of the bikers (think this was his supportive way of saying "go"). Throughout most of the race, I had absolutely no idea where I was going, where I was, or how far I had run. Since only a handful of streets in Kathmandu are actually named, the map of the racecourse that I saw shortly before starting didn't make much sense. Fortunately, the policeman kept me on track. The race ended with a lap around a track in a stadium near the office where I have been working here. I finished about 12 minutes slower than I usually run and about 15 minutes behind the second to last runner. The end was anticlimactic. Everyone was happy that I had finished because it meant they could go home. What an experience it was for me, though!

After reading my description of the riots and subsequent violence that Kathmandu experienced last week, the American investigators in charge of the project on which I am working encouraged me to "lay low". I'm afraid that I have been doing a poor job of following their advice. The good thing is that I managed to find a personal police escort for two hours on Saturday afternoon -not bad, huh.

I apologize for this email being so long. Just wanted to fill all of you in on the latest and wish you a very happy new year.

All the best for 2001.

April 4, 2001
“Claiming our power every hour”

Namaste!
For those of you who may not be familiar with this greeting, I will explain it here. I first heard it in yoga when my teacher, Linda, used it as a means of bidding us farewell before the class ended. Loosely translated, it means the light inside of me acknowledges the light inside of you. Nepalis use the expression to say hello and goodbye. The words are rarely expressed without the hand mantra: the palms are pressed together and then held to the chest with the thumbs touching the sternum.

The sun is rising above the mountains that encompass the Kathmandu Valley. It looks like it might be a beautiful day. We were supposed to have a strike today and tomorrow, but the government settled the matter. Apparently, the communist students were asking for reductions in bus fares. Strikes here in Nepal can be very unsettling, mostly because no is sure what will happen. The one scheduled for today was supposed to be particularly bad because the strikers were going to prevent everything on wheels from moving. Usually, bicycles are not included. Getting caught in a traffic jam (picture me on my bike in the middle of a tangled mass of cars, buses, trucks, motorcycles, etc.) yesterday that was caused by a group of communist student protesters holding the red CCCP flag was enough activity for me.

In the two weeks that I have been here in Nepal, I seem to have spent the majority of my time trying to create some sort of home base for myself. With all my stuff in the office and no consistent place for me to spend the night, I was feeling like the office was my only refuge. Counting the time I spent in Kathmandu over the holidays, two months is a long time for me to feel homeless. My original plan was to try to pay a Nepali family for lodging. I approached my Nepali teacher, Sushila about staying with her family, but I changed my mind when Sushila's behavior changed. Sushila desperately wants to move to the U.S. and alternates between wanting to learn about American culture during our Nepali lessons to wanting me to buy things from her friends so she can get a cut on the profits. Although I do not completely understand everything that is happening, I believe that for Sushila my identity as an American overshadows my individual personality. The reality of this situation makes me sad; however, I have experienced it before. Anyway, after moving from hotel to guest house to acquaintance's apartment, I have finally found an apartment to rent that is small enough and inexpensive enough that I can rationalize keeping it while spending the majority of my time living another area of Nepal called the Terai. Because the political situation has deteriorated in the two months I was in the U.S. and no one is certain what will happen, I see the need for a refuge to which I can escape if I need to leave the Terai and where I can stay safe when strikes are inevitably called in Kathmandu. This one-roomed apartment on the top floor of a five-story building in Patan, across the river from Kathmandu, that has breathtaking views of the sunrise, sunset, and the Milky Way over the mountains surrounding the Kathmandu Valley will definitely serve as a refuge for me. When you hear about violence in Nepal, think of me on the way to or in my apartment listening to or reading one of the many CDs and books I brought with me.

One of the activities that makes me most happy here in Kathmandu is biking. My bike gives me the same sense of freedom and independence that my car gave me in the U.S. Biking around Kathmandu, weaving in and out of the traffic, transporting just about everything I can think of (large plastic buckets, mops, brooms, small tables, my big backpack, etc.), and having the capacity to travel from one point to another without having to rely on someone else's schedule is a wonderful feeling. The level of comfort that I feel is definitely something I can attribute to Ben and my experience of living in Germany six years ago. In the past five days, I have spent an average of five hours a day on my bike. This will change, as I need to run fewer errands and eventually settle in the field/Terai; however, it is good for both my mind and heart at the moment, if not my lungs. Soon I will have to break down and buy a mask to cover my mouth, so I don't continue to asphyxiate on the black exhaust that just about every one of the vehicles emits.

Saturday, I ran for the first time with the Hash House Harriers: a running group that was started by Brits and can be found in cities all over the world. It was quite an experience for me. The running is very different, full of stops and starts as the harriers (the main group) have to keep stopping to figure out where the trail laid by the hares (leaders of the day) continues. The Kathmandu group is older, most of the men appear to be in their sixties; however, there are a few young people, including some women. Overall, I think running with the group will be a fun weekly release for me. I have to say that I laughed at myself a few times when I went running through the villages on the edge of Kathmandu wearing shorts!, surrounded by other runners screaming the hash commands: "on-on", "checking", etc. After trying so hard to be sensitive to Nepali cultural norms, it felt scandalous to conduct myself with such reckless abandon. Nevertheless, I believe this is exactly what I need to maintain my sanity. If nothing else, I will see some incredible scenery and out-of-the-way places that most people don't have the opportunity to see if I continue running with this group.

On Sunday as I was leaving the office, I looked over and noticed that a group of people was blessing two vehicles with the blood of a decapitated goat. As I walked away from the office and the group, I thought to myself, "oh, they're blessing the vehicles." Suddenly, I stopped and thought: "wait a minute. This is very different from what happens in the U.S." It is weird to think that I am getting used to some of the customs here, so much so that I have to remind myself how different they are from what I am used to in the U.S. Having said this, I think it is the very nature of their difference that allows me to keep walking. For me, everything in this country is different (the clothes I wear, the language, the customs, etc.). Maybe I will be more inclined to stop and stare when things are just slightly off normal from my American perspective. For example, in January I actually stopped and stared at a man and woman holding hands in the center of Kathmandu -strange reaction on my part, but true.

The local Kathmandu radio station I have been listening to that plays both Nepali and Western music just played their hourly recording: "It's a love revolution. Claiming our power every hour. World united in love." I will certainly be a changed person when I return to the U.S. if I continue to listen to this station on a regular basis.

This is a long message; however, I wanted to set the stage for my return to Nepal and fill you in on my life here before I travel to the Terai next week and have more limited email access. I hope all is well with each of you. Whenever you have a chance to write, I'd love to hear from you.

All the best for now.

P.S. It looks like the post actually works, so if you'd rather write a real versus an electronic letter (Only letters will make it this way. Anything larger or fatter will be taken), feel free to use my work address:

April 17, 2001
2058: The Beginning of a New Year

Hi!
It's 9:00 p.m. Normally (for Sarlahi), I would be feeling sleepy and almost ready for bed; however, I had a cup of coffee after work, which should keep me up for a little longer. The problem with only eating twice a day is that I feel incredibly bloated and full after both meals and just want to lie down to help the digestive process. At the moment, my whole body is working very, very hard to metabolize my dinner. Here in Sarlahi District I eat the same thing twice a day: dahl (lentil soup), bhat (rice), takari (curried vegetables), and achar (a spicy, pickled dish). Poorer families can only afford dahl and baht, which is why the dish is called "dahl bhat." You can only imagine that people subsisting on watery lentils and rice would have problems with malnutrition. Anyway, I've decided to write another group email. So much is happening and so many of you have asked about my first week in the Terai, that I thought I would record my thoughts once and send them to all of you.

One of my favorite sounds in the world is the sound of crickets and cicadas on a hot night. As I seek comfort under my fan (the temperatures have been in the 90s since I arrive last week), I can hear the crickets now, singing outside my window. The sound is comforting, much more so than the Hindi music that was blaring over the sugar mill's loudspeaker until after midnight last night. Although I quite like Hindi music, it is not my favorite thing to listen to when I am trying to sleep. It is unusual for me not to be listening to one of the CDs I brought with me.

To make my surroundings feel more familiar, I am rarely in this residence (the one some of you saw in my pictures, which is on the grounds of the sugar mill) without either my boom box or short wave radio on. Here I am living among people whose per capita income is approximately $250 and I cannot seem to function without my electronic toys (computer, boom box, short wave radio, walkman, etc.) that amount to a value that would be equal to the product of a decade of a man's hard labor. In a way, it just proves how dependent we Westerners are on material possessions to fill the void within ourselves that is starving for human connection. I often think about the extreme measures that I am taking to carry out my dream of conducting my research abroad.

In this country I am viewed as being very different from the Nepalis. Not only am I white, but also I'm educated, tall, and unmarried. My status as a Westerner allows me to interact with Nepali men, almost exclusively. All the NNIPS (Nepal Nutrition Intervention Project-Sarlahi) staff that I am working with in the field are Nepali men. There are a few female staff members whom I will interact at a later date; however, they function in a different capacity than the men. The two times I have been invited over to dinner at NNIPS staff-workers' houses, I only saw their wives when they came into the room to bring and clear our food. Even when I dined at my Nepali teacher's house, my teacher, a female, abided by tradition and waited until her two children and I were finished eating before she began her meal. So, because of Nepali customs, I have very little contact with Nepali women.

Just about all of the social conversations I have with the Nepali men I know are the same. They begin with talk about work or some aspect of Nepali culture and end by focusing on my height and the fact that I don't have a boyfriend. Last Saturday at the NNIPS accountant's house, where I was invited to observe the New Year's celebration in his part of the Kathmandu Valley, he and my other two co-workers who were invited to dinner with me explained Newari culture (their ethnic group, which is said to be the richest in Nepal in terms of culture). However, as I could have predicted, they soon changed the focus of the conversation to the miniature size of the accountant's house (all Newari houses have very low ceilings on which I always manage to bump my head) and my height. Inevitably, just about everyone I come into contact with comments on my height. "You're really tall." This is the expression that I hear over and over again. When people tire of this conversation, they switch to asking about my boyfriend. The word "boyfriend" doesn't exist in Nepali. There is no need for a word of this nature, since the majority of the marriages are arranged and the idea of dating doesn't exist. Nevertheless, Nepalis who understand the concept think all Western women should have a boyfriend if they aren't married. So, the conversation never begins with the question, "do you have a boyfriend?" Instead, it starts with, "does your boyfriend...." When I respond by saying I don't have a boyfriend, they almost fall out of their chairs. Oh my gosh, they think, here is a Western woman on the loose (everyone knows that ALL Western women behave like Sharon Stone's characters in the movies. That's a given.). Shortly afterwards, the conversation comes full circle as everyone comments that I wouldn't be a good match for a Nepali man because I am so much taller. At this point, it is clear we have exhausted all material for further conversation, which is my cue to get up and prepare to leave, if the person I have been speaking to has not already left. I cannot even begin to tell you how many times I have had this same conversation. Yesterday afternoon at the end of the workday was the last one.

So, surrounded by Nepali men who do not really understand my culture or my need to occasionally talk about my thoughts and feelings, I have been craving interaction with females. Although there are so many challenges that lie ahead of me, I believe one of my biggest ones will be for me to continue living and working in the absence of female interaction. I really don't know what I would do without email (which I'm only able to access on a limited basis as it is) and the books and CDs I brought with me. Hopefully, my Nepali language skills will get better and I will be able to initiate conversations with some of the Nepali-speaking women living in the village in which I will eventually live and work. The idea is for me to move away from the sugar mill to a more remote area once we can find a house that will be suitable to hold our clinic and to house me.

I am in the process of training a guy named Shihsir to help me manage the child development study I am here to execute. We've decided to call the study DIMAG (Development of Infant Motor skills, Articulations, and Growth). In Nepali the word dimag means mind, which is fitting considering the fact that we are studying the cognitive development of young children. Shihsir was hand selected by our field supervisor for being smart, reliable, and dedicated. He helped me pretest the forms I brought with me in December and appears to be excited about his new role as my right-hand person. I think we're going to make a good team. Having him as a part of the project certainly takes a lot of pressure off of me.

In the last week, I have spent a considerable amount of time observing young kids in their natural surroundings (picture wooden houses with dirt yards filled with goats, chickens, roosters, water buffalo, cows, and extended family members). One of the girls I observed the other day was so cute. She couldn't stop reacting to my presence and kept calling "Didi", which means older sister. Whenever another kid did something that she didn't like, she called "Didi", pleading with me to save her. Today, I listened to five adult women carry on a discussion about me while I was watching a 7-month old boy. I feel as if I am constantly on display. Fortunately, I was able to tell the women in Nepali that I had already eaten a big meal when they asked if I wanted something to eat. Sometimes it’s difficult to refuse food; however, here in the Terai there is so little to go around that I am rarely offered any.

Until the professors in charge of the study come at the end of May, I will be working on training our fieldworkers to observe children, administer questionnaires, use a fancy piece of equipment designed to measure activity, and administer several tests of cognitive that I still need to learn myself. For most of these tasks, I will rely on Shihsir’s help to communicate in Nepali with the fieldworkers.

For the most part, I will be traveling to Sarlahi on Sundays and will return late Friday night. The trip is a long one, averaging about 7 to 8 hours each way. Although I always try to read, the road is so bumpy and windy and the bench seats in our vehicle are so uncomfortable, that I usually spend most of the time staring out of the window. I think I can honestly say that I have never traveled along a more interesting road. With the terraced fields along side the mountain range separating the Kathmandu Valley from the Terai and a fast-flowing river often dotted with rafts as a backdrop, there is always something happening on or along the road: villagers carrying huge bundles of leaves for their animals or stacks of wood for kindling, truck drivers trying to manipulate a crank to pull their truck up the side of a cliff (I've seen this many times), trucks with broken axles abandoned in the middle of the road, children hurdling goats and water buffalo, people bathing in streams that trickle down from the steep cliffs, etc. In addition to these other sights, it is quite common to witness evidence of serious accidents. For the past two weeks we have passed a mangled bus that has been on the highway for a month since 13 people were killed in it when it hit a truck traveling the opposite direction. Last week we arrived on a stretch the road shortly after a 5-year old child was hit and killed by a bus. A woman who used to work in the Kathmandu office hypothesizes that, in addition to drinking, the accidents are caused by the simple fact that the buses and trucks are not designed to navigate such windy, steep, narrow roads. This is probably true, especially considering the fact that the jeeps (I travel in our project jeep) and cars don't seem to have the same problems that the larger vehicles do with respect to accidents and breakdowns.

Okay, if I don't stop here, you will never read another of my emails after suffering from the eye fatigue this one is probably giving you. Nevertheless, I wanted to describe in detail a few aspects of my life here. Hope you are all well. I'll write more personal emails soon.

All the best for now.

P.S. As you can gather from the subject. Last weekend Nepal celebrated the beginning of the year 2058.

May 19, 2001
News from Sour Fruit

Hi!
I better explain the subject before I go any further. Nepalis seem to have trouble with my English name. Since it sounds a whole lot like Imly, a sour fruit found in the Terai, they call me Imly and giggle whenever they say it. Last week, one of our computer programmers from Baltimore traveled to the field with me to help set up a program we are using to collect and store observation data using Palm Pilots. His name is Darrell, which we have discovered is as difficult to say as Emily. Dhero, a word meaning mush in Nepali, is as close as the Nepalis can get. One of our drivers, Krishna, laughed the other day when he asked Steve, our American director, why JHU is sending so many people with names of Nepali foods to Nepal. His comment made me laugh. Funny when you think about it.

It has been a few weeks since I last wrote a group email. Lately, I haven't felt much like writing emails. This mostly has to do with the fact that I have only had email access on the weekends and haven't had the time or energy to respond to everyone properly. Fortunately, email is less difficult to do (though it sometimes takes me 45 minutes to get a dial tone and log on), since our phone lines were fixed in Hariun and I can now get access in the field. Actually, the local telephone tower was moved to the building next to my temporary residence here on the grounds of the sugar mill. The location was deemed to be the safest in the town and protected from line-cutting people (in Nepali this is how you describe people: bread-making woman, teaching man, etc.). In about a month I will move to another village that is more remote than the one in which I am presently living; however, I am assured that there are fewer problems with the phone there and that I will have access to a line.

I find that I regularly compose group emails while I am running (whether I send them or not). This is probably just a reaction to not running with people. Many of the things I'd like to write about are subjects that I would normally bring up with my running buddies. With only my Walkman as company here, writing is one of my only outlets. Unfortunately, I haven't felt much like writing in my journal. Instead, it is more satisfying to collect my observations periodically and send them to all of you. Having a "live" audience makes me a better writer.

Lately, I have experienced a number of highs and lows. This was true of my life in Baltimore as well; however, here everything is more extreme. For a while, I noticed that the majority of my lows occurred on days that I did not run. I guess when I had trouble facing the world early in the morning; I was more prone to feeling frustrated and defeated later in the day when I was presented with the usual list of delays and challenges. This observation made me realize that I need to keep running, if for no other reason to lift my spirits. Guess you could say that running presently is functioning as an antidepressant for me (as it always does).

In addition to the work I have been doing for my study, I have also begun several other research projects. This is nothing new. Usually, I have several going at any given period of time. My longest standing one is burial practices of different cultures. Anyway, while running I have been doing my own comparison of the nutrition of cows in Sarlahi (Terai) compared with cows in Kathmandu. Since I am forced to step around cow and water buffalo dung while running, this is an obvious question for me to consider. After two months of data collection, I conclude that the cows in Sarlahi are better fed and have more fiber in their diet than the cows in Kathmandu. Actually, I have to be careful when I am biking, walking, or running in Kathmandu because it is very easy to be splattered with cow diarrhea. There are so many stray cows in the big city that subside on the scraps of food that they find in trash heaps. Unfortunately, these scraps are not very nutritious and usually cause them to have watery stools. It is enough of a problem that I have decided that if I begin to feel really lonely, I will adopt a cow. After all, in this country feeding a cow is an auspicious thing to do.

For the past few weeks, I have been working very hard laying the groundwork for my sub-study DIMAG (Development of Infant Motor skills, Articulations, and Growth -name in Nepali means "mind") to begin sometime at the end of June. For the past two weeks, I have been training 15 fieldworkers to observe infants between the ages of 4- and 28-months. I started by teaching them the codes, specific actions and behaviors that we will be looking for during the three-hour home-observation, that were created by a developmental psychologist who is working in the international health arena and is a collaborator for our study. The first two weeks of the training went surprisingly well. Through the use of some unconventional (for Nepal) techniques, such as me crawling on the floor in my native dress called a shalwar kamez, that have required me to employ just about all of my limited acting talent, I believe that I succeeded in building some rapport. For the most part, I've been relying on my humor as a means of communicating with my new team. Although my Nepali language skills are improving, they are still atrocious. Nevertheless, my mistakes, such as "I am a big house." just add to the light-hearted atmosphere. Both the Sarlahi and Kathmandu staff call me "jokey."

As a part of the training, I am teaching my team some very useful American practices, such as huddling together, putting their right hands (to add the left in this country would not be accepted) on top of each other, and yelling "DIMAG" or whatever else comes out as they release their hands into the air like sports teams do before beginning a game. We do this before going out to the field in the mornings. The smiles that the activity elicits are so big that they must last for hours.

One of the reasons I have been so busy lately is because we have had a number of Baltimoreans visit. The data programmer for the larger trial (called NNIPS 4 -Nepal Nutrition Intervention Sarlahi- that is studying the effects of zinc and iron supplementation on infant mortality) was here for three weeks. It was wonderful for me to have another female around with whom I could talk about feelings, relationships, etc. (typical female stuff). Last week Gwendolyn's colleague, Darrell, who is focusing on programming software for DIMAG arrived for a two-week visit. Tomorrow, we will pick up my advisor, Becky, from the airport on our way to Sarlahi. Her visit will overlap with Darrell's for a week. The day after they leave, Jim, my big boss and principle investigator for NNIPS 4, will arrive for a two-week visit. I am finding it very helpful to have so much support and help. It is a little strange at first getting used to spending just about every waking moment with these NNIPS people (this is the case when we are in Sarlahi); however, they are a lot of fun to be around. In December, I really missed them after they left. I'm sure I'll feel the same way once Darrell, Becky, and Jim leave.

There are a lot of stories that I could share, but I think one of the best ones is something that happened last week. Ram Asheshor, one of our DIMAG observers, reported to work on Thursday with a broken Palm Pilot in hand. When asked why the screen was cracked and it no longer works, he stated that he had been rammed by a water buffalo the previous evening. I wish I could be there when Darrell tries to explain why we are sending the Palm Pilot back to the company: "Well, we'd like to claim our warranty because ... er, ..well, ...uh, a water buffalo ran into the Palm."

This message is becoming very long. Hopefully, you have a better idea of what has been going on lately with my life here in Nepal. Although I'm finding many aspects of being here very tough, I do love my job and am happy to have this opportunity. I'll be in touch again soon.

June 2, 2001
Country in Mourning

Hello!
I had not anticipated writing another group email so shortly after the last; however, today's news warrants being shared. In the U.S. we often talk about where we were when a particular tragedy happened. Mom and Dad remember where they were when J.F.K. Jr. was shot, I remember where I was when I heard of the Challenger's explosion, and, most recently, I believe most Americans can state where they were when they heard the news of Princess Diana and J.F.K. Jr.'s deaths. Here in Kathmandu a similar tragedy occurred at 10:30 p.m. last night. I'd like to tell you where I was when I found out just about the entire Kingdom of Nepal's royal family was assassinated.

I'm writing from work where I have just logged on to email and found four messages from the directors of our project (NNIPS) here in Kathmandu and investigators (professors) in the U.S. addressing the news. While they were writing back and forth, discussing whether it was a good idea for those of us in Kathmandu to go outside, I was wandering around the city trying to find a place to eat American-style pancakes and drink several mugs of whole-bean coffee.

Last night the Director of NNIPS, Subarna, hosted a dinner party for Jim, the principle investigator of the project who is in town for two weeks. I consumed two beers at the party and, as a result, woke up feeling groggy and lethargic. Tired of running alone and not having anything concrete planned for this afternoon and evening, I decided that I would postpone running in order to join the Hash House Harriers for the first time in six weeks (bad move because the hash was just canceled and it looks like there might be a city-wide curfew). Moving slowly, I washed some clothes and left my apartment. Normally, I bike everywhere, but my bike was in the office, so I took a taxi to my favorite restaurant, Mike's Breakfast, where I normally go on Saturday mornings for an American-style breakfast and a relaxing atmosphere to read or write. When I arrived at Mike's I found a sign on the door stating that it was closed today, but would be open tomorrow. This was weird.

There was no reason for anything to be closed. Earlier in the week, the city closed for three days to recognize strikes called by the Marxist-Leninist party. These strikes, organized to highlight the problems of the "everyman", succeeded in doing nothing but hurting the very people these leftists were trying to help. For the past few days, shop owners, taxi drivers, and daily laborers have been frantically trying to capture some of the income they lost.

The taxi I was in wouldn't take me to Thamel, the backpacker's ghetto, or Durbar Maag, analogous to New York City's Fifth Avenue, which was also weird. This had never happened before. I had some trouble finding a taxi, but managed to flag down an auto rickshaw. As I was berating myself for taking this type of vehicle that manages to jostle every ounce of my body whenever I ride in one, I opened the cloth flap covering the makeshift window and saw battalions of policemen and women and streams of people walking around the King's Palace. Seeing the police made me think another bandh (strike) had been called without my knowledge; however, seeing the people was puzzling. Bandh days are usually quiet. If there are people out, there are never very many. In this area of town, it is rare to see so many Nepalis. Usually, there are more tourists. As we approached Thamel, I noticed that the shops were closed. Nothing made sense. If there was a bandh, why were vehicles allowed on the road? Something was definitely wrong.

Here in Kathmandu the atmosphere can change in minutes. I've been out when whole areas of the city were closed without warning in five minutes. One never really knows what is happening or why the police arrive when they do; however, few people will stop to question what is happening before they act. Given all the political turmoil these days, the Maoist activity and Marxist-Leninist demonstrations, it is clear that this country is not stable.
So, the auto-rickshaw stopped and I got out and headed to the one place in the city where I am known: The New Orleans Cafe. I knew the waiters would be able to fill me in on the news and provide me with a safe haven, if needed. This restaurant was one of the only places in Thamel that was open. There I was first told about the assassination.

At the moment, all kinds of rumors are flying around about the incident. No one really knows what happened, except that 9 to 13 members of the royal family, including the King, the Queen, the Princess, one of the Princess's siblings, the King's three sisters, and one of the sister's husbands were shot in the royal palace at 10:30 p.m. last night, while they were attending a dinner party. The Crown Prince is rumored to have been the assassin; however, nothing has been confirmed. One report suggests that the Crown Prince shot himself in the head after shooting everyone else. This wouldn't be surprising, since this guy's cousin has a reputation for killing random Nepalis when he gets drunk and drives his car around Kathmandu. I guess with time we will hear more about what really happened.

The news has left all of Kathmandu (and I imagine the rest of the country) in shock. When I finally left New Orleans in another taxi to pick up my bike and check my email here in the office, I passed thousands of Nepalis gathered in mourning within a mile of the Royal Palace's gates. The question on everyone's mind is "Who is going to be King?" Apparently, the only surviving member of the Royal Family, the King's brother who was vacationing in Pokhara at the time of the tragedy, is the prime candidate. Unfortunately, he has a horrible reputation, the details of which I do not know. It will certainly be interesting to see what happens, especially in light of the fact that Nepalis liked the king. The Prime Minister is the official they want to resign.

I've given you far more detail than you probably wanted or needed. Nevertheless, I felt a need to share the events of this strange day. Soon I will head back to my apartment and will await word. We are supposed to leave for the field tomorrow morning, but won't go if it seems dangerous. This is the fourth day this week that I have been confined to my residence. Actually, I have still ventured out (to Becky and Darrell's hotel down the street from my apt. on Sunday, Monday, and Tuesday and to Thamel and the office today), but it's not the same as an ordinary working day. Being here in Nepal makes me aware of how much freedom I have in the U.S. on so many different levels. So, I'm going home to finish some work and curl up with a book.

P.S. Dad, I know you are most affected by this news. I guess it means I will no longer be able to marry the Crown Prince, as you so desired.

P.P.S. Being here in the office has given me an opportunity to have a tickle-fight with my five-year old friend Arjun, the son of our night watchman, Sundar


June 4, 2001
News from What Feels Like the Front

So, here in Nepal it is Monday afternoon. I don't know if I am shaking because I am still feeling the effects of the strong coffee I had this morning or I'm experiencing a delayed reaction to what I witnessed a half an hour ago. My guess is that it is a result of the latter.

The day started out quiet. After agreeing to meet at the office this morning, six of us gathered to discuss the details of the larger trial. As I was in the middle of explaining the revisions we have made to the sub-study I am managing, several phone calls came into the office announcing that the Ring Road was about to be closed. About the same time, dozens of people came running into the Nepal Eye Hospital compound where our office is situated. We stopped what we were doing and rushed outside to see what was happening. Men were hanging out of car windows and off their motorcycles yelling: "find the murderers." It was clear to us that we should disband the meeting. Because Jim's hotel and my apt. are close to the office and we had a lot to discuss, the two of us stayed behind to talk.

As Jim and I talked we heard canons and other heavy artillery discharging in the distance. While we were in the office, Gyanendra, the former king's brother, was proclaimed and crowned King. Dipendra, the former Crown Prince, died in the middle of the night at the army hospital where he was taken on Friday night after the shootings. Four or five hours passed. Around 3 p.m. our night- watchman came in to tell us that fifteen people had been shot by the army at New Road Gate, about a mile from the office. Again, Jim and I stepped outside of the hospital compound to see what was happening. About 65% of the men we saw (of what must have been a thousand) had shaved their heads. The government requested that government workers do this out of respect for the former King. By this afternoon, the act had turned more into a gesture of solidarity as Nepali men bonded in their disgust of the government's decision to make Gyanendra king. We watched as two truckloads of men with shaved heads holding the Nepali flag raced by us headed in the direction of the army hospital where Dipendra's body lay. Another three trucks holding army personnel, coming from the direction of New Road Gate and the alleged shootings sped by us and zoomed towards the army hospital. Motorcycles and bicycles circled the tall statue in the middle of the roundabout in front of us as groups of men huddled listening to the news. I've never seen so many Nepali men in one place as I did from the vantage point that Jim and I had. The only word that I can really use to describe the scene is surreal.

Jim and I returned to the office to collect our computers. It was time to leave. As we were on our way out the door, the director of NNIPS called to tell us to leave as quickly as possible. The latest report was that a curfew was scheduled for 3:30 in Patan (where I live) and for 4:00 p.m. in Kathmandu. It was already 3:20. I took my bike and together Jim and I walked toward Patan. We weaved through streams of men, most of whom had shaved heads, who were trying, as we were, to make it home before the curfew. Bands of motorcycles passed us. Some of the drivers were carrying large photos of the king. Others were waving the Nepali flag. I left Jim about a block before his hotel. As I turned into a side street that leads to my apartment, I watched men and women scurrying to get home. Some people laughed nervously as they saw me, the only foreigner around, race past them on my bike. This afternoon I didn't try to dodge the puddles or piles of dirt. The only thing I had to go around were the large, lumbering cows that didn't seem to appreciate the chaos around them.

I'm back at "home" now, safe from random violence in the streets. The curfew has been called until 5:00 a.m.; however, it may last longer. There is a rumor that it will be lifted for a few hours in the morning to give everyone enough time to stock up with provisions. I understand the last curfew that was held in this city during the revolution of 1990 only lasted a weekend. Hopefully, this one won't last longer than a few days. We'll see.

One of the reasons the curfew was called when it was is because Dipendra is supposed to be cremated this afternoon. At the moment, few Nepalis believe that Dipendra was responsible for the murders. They believe that Gyanendra's son Paras, the rogue I mentioned in a previous email, was somehow responsible for everything that happened. Before the curfew there were demonstrations all over the city, the biggest of which was outside the hospital trying to block the funeral procession from removing Dipendra's body without first doing an autopsy. People are very unhappy that Gyanendra has been coronated.

As I write I can see clouds of black smoke in the distance above the tourist ghetto, Thamel. It brings back memories of walking by burning tires through tear gas as I tried to return to my hotel last December when the city erupted in riots after the Indian film star's alleged comments about not liking Nepal or Nepalis. I hear the scene is similar today. Thamel is next to the Royal Palace where many of the demonstrations took place before the curfew.

I have a need to share these events with all of you, partly because it is through writing that I am able to process all that is happening and partly because I want to keep you informed of the current events. As many of you have expressed in your emails to me, it is truly unbelievable that all of this is happening. Despite the chaos that I have described, I want you to know that I am safe. It took me a while to accept that NNIPS is more than a research institution, but I have learned to appreciate the fact that it is also a family. With both the Nepali and American directors looking out for my well-being, I am in good hands. Should the situation get worse and my safety become jeopardized, I will think about leaving the country. Having said this, I don't anticipate me having to go anywhere, except into hibernation if the period of mourning is extended and/or more bandhs are called. In the meantime, I will continue to keep you posted of all that is happening here. Should you not here from me in a while and you find that you are beginning to worry (as was the case for many of you in December), please drop me a line. My silence probably means that I have gotten tired of trying to get an internet connection and feel a need to take a break from email for a change.

So, with the background of children's happy voices wafting up from the street below and the chattering of crows and other, smaller birds, amidst a backdrop of the sun setting over the mountains, I think I'll begin the third Harry Potter book that Jim lent me today. I wish that I could read the first two first, but with the bookstores closed, I'm happy to have something other than non-fiction and short stories to read. I've made some peppermint tea and am off to read. All is peaceful now that the curfew has begun.

June 25, 2001
It’s Monday

Hi!
I keep getting messages from friends and family asking for news. It has been a few weeks since the royal family massacre and although life has not returned to normal, I believe it is as normal as it will be for a while. The Nepalis are not happy with the official report; however, there is very little that they can do, especially since the government passed a law last week prohibiting people from gathering in groups of more than three. The Maoists have increased their activity, but as far as I can tell their patterns are the same (i.e. kill as many police people as possible, especially those who live in villages that are the home of the corrupt officials currently in power). In a way, it feels like the calm before the storm.

Two weeks ago, I went to a party where I met a lot of expats who were leaving Nepal for the summer for their annual multi-week vacation. Many of them had friends who had already picked up and moved to another location. Although these people have firmly established roots in this country, a few were taking precautions in case they are not able to return in the fall. For instance, one man, the director of Save the Children, was planning to take all of his pictures with him. For me, still feeling ungrounded, the conversation was unsettling. Having said this, I am in the process of taking strides to make my home in Kathmandu feel more like a home, have just welcomed two acquaintances from Hopkins who moved to Nepal last week, and am pursuing my work training the fieldworkers who are going to help me collect my data for my dissertation. There are 20 of them and they are keeping me very busy. Despite my gut feeling that the government will be overturned soon, I am optimistic that I will be able to pursue my work and will eventually reach a point where Nepal feels like home, at least one of my many homes.
So, I'm writing because I wanted to send a lifeline and wanted to share my day with you. Today was one of those days that made me realize why I am here and left me feeling very happy about being in Nepal. I will begin by telling you that I just returned from riding a water buffalo. Yes, it is true. After work I had my third motorcycle lesson, which went well. I seem to have mastered riding along dirt roads and tracks through villages and between rows of corn and rice patties; however, I'm still having some problems with the brakes and kick starting the bike. Tomorrow, my teacher, Mahendra (our mechanic), plans to have me practice stopping and starting in the field behind the office. That won't be nearly as fun as feeling the wind rush against my face as I pass gawking villagers and grazing animals. We rode for over an hour today. I was tired when I climbed on my new gearless Indian cycle to ride back to my residence in the sugar mill compound. Buying the bike was my attempt to attain more independence here in the field. Because of it I was able to stop when I wanted on the way home without having to make our field supervisor and assistant supervisor, who live below me in our residence, wait.

Anyway, I have wanted to ride a water buffalo for a while, but worried that my weight would crush it. Here in the field there are water buffalos everywhere. This evening I saw a particularly large one grazing by the side of the road and decided to ask the young man holding her rope if I could ride her. Can't you hear me now: "hey baby, would you mind if I rode your water buffalo." Actually, I told him that we don't have water buffalos in the U.S. and I would really like to ride one. He smiled and led the large female over so I could hop on top. You can only imagine the comments from other Nepalis as the inquired why a very tall woman was sitting on top of this guy's water buffalo. He repeated what I had told them and they all smiled. It must have looked a little silly just sitting there. By the time I hopped off, about 25 people had gathered to see what was happening. It's a good thing I don't have to worry too much about things getting stolen because we had traveled about 200 yards from my bike and bike bag. As I bid everyone "Namaste", several people told me to bring my camera back tomorrow. Maybe I will. I would certainly enjoy another ride and evidence that it really happened.

As a part of my project, I will be measuring growth indices of children in our study. In order to make sure the two people who will be responsible for anthropometry are measuring the children correctly and that they are measuring the children in the same way, we invited 10 kids and their mothers (actually two dads came as well) into the office. At one point, I looked up from recording measurements and observed a scene of utter chaos. One baby was peeing on the floor (no one has money for diapers. The kids just run around without any bottoms on.), some others had cookie-crud caked on their faces, and several were crying loudly. The next baby in line to be measured was 5-months, but looked like a newborn. Actually, this child weighed less at 5-months than she did when she was born. Her 19-year old mom had stopped lactating and was only feeding her baby formula three times a day. The baby's father lived in another town and the mother didn't have any money (or proper knowledge) for additional food. NNIPS policy is to treat kids in such bad shape, so we drove to the mother's house later in the day and gave her a month's supply of dahl (lentils), glucose, multi-vitamin drops, and formula. Seeing this malnourished child affirmed my purpose for being here. If I can do anything to help kids, like the one I saw, live long, healthy lives, it would be incredibly wonderful. It sure would be great if we actually found that daily supplementation with zinc and iron/folate reduces child mortality and improves cognitive development.

I wasn't going to write another group email so soon, but it isn't every day that one has an opportunity to ride a water buffalo.

August 10, 2001
West Meets East 4 Kilometers from the East-West Highway

Hi again!
Yesterday (July 29), after four months of waiting, I moved with the rest of my team to a village called Ishwarpur, which is located about 19 kilometers from Hariaun, where I have been based since I began working in the Terai in April. Whereas, I used to look out of my window in Hariaun and see a temple erected to the goddess Kali, trucks laden with sugar cane (during the sugar cane season), and the tall stacks of the sugar mill, here in Ishwarpur I see pigeons nesting in their small house on stilts (pigeons are eaten in the Terai. In Kathmandu they are revered as symbols of peace, similar to how we view doves) and fields of Daan (rice paddies). The house to which we have moved is affectionately called "The Pink Palace". I suppose it would be my palace, since I am the princess who reigns over it both day and night, but I’d like to think that it houses more than a princess. To give you an idea of my life here, I will introduce you to a few of the members of my DIMAG family.

Including my "Didi" ( means older sister in Nepali. This woman, Kanchi, cooks and cleans for me. She has worked for three other graduate students, which is neat.) and our night watchman, there are 23 of us who are working to collect data, or to assist those who are collecting data, on the development of Nepali infants 4- to 16- months of age. We are measuring motor, language, and cognitive development and growth in infants supplemented with iron/folate and/or zinc. To do this, we observe infants in their homes and bring them into the office for a clinic visit. There are two kinds of clinic visits that we have. One entails measuring growth and drawing blood. The other involves the use of two developmental tasks that require infants 12-months of age to find a hidden toy and indicate preference for faces that are displayed on a wooden screen. We anticipate that the blood draw will be a problem, especially since we have decided to only give the participants tea, a snack, and medicine if they are sick. They will want more from us, but we hesitate to set a trend that will raise the expectations for and cost of future studies. Although there are many more details associated with each of the clinic/office visits, I have spent the majority of my time so far training the observers to do the home visits. These observations and the equipment that we are using to conduct them, palm pilots and two base-station laptop computers, are new. Most of the other tasks have been performed for past studies or they aren’t too hard to learn, as is the case for the developmental tests.

Our team leader is named Shishir. He is around my age and is soft-spoken and kind. There are 15 observers and 4 lab and growth technicians. I couldn’t be happier with the group as a whole. Everyone is really hard working and devoted to being a part of NNIPS. Most of them have been working for NNIPS for up to 12 years. I was given three of the biggest problem cases; however, they have been doing a good job so far. I believe everyone enjoys the novelty and challenge that working on this sub-study provides. I consider myself really fortunate to be able to work with this team.

West meets east. To this area of rice paddies, ox-carts, grazing water buffalo, and women wearing saris, I bring my English music, Western technology, and American ideas. Earlier in the week, as I went for my first run in this area, I witnessed the jaw-dropping stares that I had forgotten were originally a part of my runs in Hariaun before they were replaced by calls of "hello" and "namaste/namaskar," smiles, and a few attempts at joining me for a stretch of road. I have to think that the people here in Ishwarpur will also get used to me and to me wearing wind-pants and carrying a walkman, while I (a woman, nonetheless) do something as foreign to them as exercising for pleasure. On Monday, a man stopped on his motorcycle to ask me what the problem was (i.e. why was I running). I informed him that there wasn’t a problem. I was just running for pleasure. He left, but I’m not sure that he was convinced by my words. Today (Wednesday), I considered it a good sign when I heard a chorus of "Namaskars" chanted from the middle of a cornfield bordering the road. It took me a second to realize the greeting was directed toward me (even though I couldn't see the faces behind the corn stalks).

Last night, at the party I hosted for my team members and the NNIPS field staff workers, after the one Hindi CD that we had finished playing, there was a request for English disco music. We were listening to my CD player on the roof of the Pink Palace. The best that I could offer was my ABBA and Aqua CDs. As I heard the first few words of Dancing Queen play and many of my staff members requested that I dance, I responded. Unlike most of the countries I have visited, Nepal has not been affected by American pop culture. Occasionally, one can hear English songs, but most of the music is either Nepali or Hindi. The Indian film industry has had a far greater affect on the Nepalis than anything else. So, as I was surrounded by about 30 of the NNIPS staff members with music playing that stirs something inside of me, I pretended that I was alone with my friend Becky, dancing spontaneously in my living room in Baltimore. I danced in my own way on the roof of the pink palace under waxing moon, while everyone watched. I don’t think there is a greater sense of freedom than being able to be yourself in a country so far from home, with customs as foreign as the ones in Nepal are from what is familiar to me.

As I sit at my desk writing, Natalie Merchant is singing: "These are the days that you will remember, never before and never since. As you know it, it’s true that you are blessed and lucky. It’s true that you are touched by something that will grow and bloom: YOU. These are the days that you’ll remember." Although some days are really difficult, I am really getting a lot out of my experience and am fully conscious of how little time I actually have. It is moments, like the some of the ones that I have described that make me realize what a gift it is for me to be here at all. Sometimes I’m amazed how completely I am accepted, especially for being the only foreigner in this area of the Terai.

I will close this letter here. After I started writing it, the roof of the Pink Palace leaked and I awoke to find my computer swimming in a puddle of water. It has taken 11 days for my computer to dry and for me to finally be able to use it. I need a new keyboard from the U.S., but in the meantime, I can type using an external keyboard. It is great that we have a few extras in the office. You should have seen me walking through the tourist area of the city last night with a keyboard under my arm. I wonder what the backpackers thought.

P.S. Many people have commented on my p.s. messages. Thought I'd leave you with another thought. Can you believe a rat crawled into my bed two weeks ago and bit my finger? What is worse is that I was in a deep sleep at the time and woke up thinking it was my cat Nora. When it dawned on me that Nora is in the U.S. and that the teeth nibbling my finger must belong to a rat, I jumped out of bed and ran for a light (the electricity was out and my flashlight was on the other side of the rat). Fortunately, I'm over my rat phobia. Funny that it happened the night before I moved to Ishwarpur. It was actually cute when I saw it, but I don't think I want it or any of its friends to return. Hopefully, the same thing won't happen in Ishwarpur. Looks like it was a good thing I was vaccinated for rabies.


October 9, 2001
Lots of Detail about Life Here

Namaste from Ishwarpur!

So, I've written yet another group email that will probably take days, if not weeks for you to read. In any case, I wanted to share some details of my life here and let you know I will be returning to the U.S. for a visit.

Last night a full moon shone briefly over Ishwarpur before it disappeared behind the clouds that brought the monsoon. There was singing. A local girl is due to be married in a few days time. Her female family members and friend's voices carried through the night. I went to the roof of the Pink Palace to see if I could see them. As I looked out into the night, I could only hear the sound of someone moving slowly along the muddy, pock-holed road in front of the Pink Palace. I saw a black shape and as it wandered closer, I recognized it to be our village bull, the huge black and brown animal with a huge hump (typical of bulls and oxes here) and cataracts. He continued walking up the road and I returned to my room.

Last night the two elephants that wandered from the jungle into the rice paddies bordering my landlord's property did not return. They caused enough excitement the night before when a few villagers spotted them from their windows. The rest of us were sleeping. Apparently, wild elephants are known to have the capacity to twist humans in their trunks. Yesterday evening many people demonstrated for me what the elephants would do if they came across a person. I'd still like to think of these animals and being the gentle souls whose ears I have sat behind and whose leathery skin I have touched with my hands and feet. It is wild, though, thinking that there are wild elephants around. Nepal is so different from Africa, where I have seen so many of these animals traveling with their family units within the boundaries of the game parks.

Luxmi/Kanchi-didi (my cook with two names. her real one and the one many people call her) and I have spent the majority of the evenings we been together over the past few weeks laughing. Luxmi worries that the neighbors will think we are a little strange, but I already know that they think I am rather peculiar. I am really struggling with Nepali (as many of our senior workers like to point out every opportunity that they get), so the best way that I have found to communicate with the villagers, particularly the three individuals with whom I live (Luxmi, Parvati- our sweeper, and Udab-our night watchman) is through humor. They always enjoy my impersonations of the animals living within our compound. Although it isn't the best impersonation, I am most proud of my water buffalo sound. Until last week, when he was removed so he wouldn't eat the dhan (rice crop) coming in from the fields, I used to converse with my goat friend, who I refer to in Nepali as "my friend". Recently, I've been inquiring as to how much time "my friend" and I have before he is sold for his meat. The best estimate that I get is about five months. It is hard to get too attached to anything here. Each of the three water buffaloes that are here and the one cow have male babies. All of them will be sold for their meat as well. The females are kept for reproduction and the males are sold. For more than one reason, you might understand my preference for the female gender.

These days I am spending my weeks in the remote village of Ishwarpur where the rest of the world and Nepal, for that matter, feel very removed. Having said this, I should admit that email and instant messenger make the world feel less vast. Yesterday I received an email from a good friend of mine in England who was wondering with our mutual Malaysian friend how any of us survived without email when we lived in England together over 10 years ago. I often wonder how people like Margaret Mead maintained their sanity, while spending such extensive periods of times in remote areas where they did not have access to information from the "outside" world. I'm having a hard enough time being here in Nepal with all the modern conveniences of communication that I wonder if I could have done what I am doing now before email was created. I suppose we all get used to whatever we have. Years from now, I'll probably wonder how I managed to do what I am doing in Nepal without some invention that has not been created.

At 2 p.m. on Friday afternoons we load our project vehicle and make the long journey back to Kathmandu. Depending on the road conditions (landslides, accidents, etc.), I usually arrive anywhere from 9 PM to 2 AM On Sunday morning around 11 a.m. I meet our driver in our Kathmandu office and return with him, our field supervisor, and any number of our other senior staff members to Sarlahi District. Since I am tired of driving and our vehicle these days is caring a huge load (we are in the process of bringing several million zinc and iron/folate supplements to the field. 16,000 people x daily dose for 2.5 years = lots and lots and lots), I usually stop with the vehicle for the night in Hariaun where I lived before moving to Ishwarpur and don't return to my "home" until Monday morning (all the other supervisors stay in Hariaun. I'm running the show here in Ishwarpur.). Needless to say, I spend a lot of time on the road each week. It really wears me out, especially when I have to sit in the back with the seats that face the interior. The roads are so curvy and bumpy that my back really begins to bother me after a single trip. Nevertheless, I make the trip each week because I have decided that being in Kathmandu, even if only for the day on Saturday, does wonders for my emotional state. Getting away from Ishwarpur definitely breaks the monotony of life here. Being in Kathmandu gives me an opportunity to run with the Hash House Harrier group (something I have grown to love) and occasionally to eat American food at my favorite restaurant, Mike's Breakfast. Although Nepali food is quite good, I get tired of eating the same thing every day. For the past few months, I have also been able to fit in a swim at a local pool; however, with the weather cooling down (in Kathmandu not Ishwarpur) it doesn't look like I will be able to do this much longer. Biking remains my single most favorite activity in the big city.

I have had a really tough time over the past two months. Working here in Nepal is definitely proving to be one of the hardest things that I have ever done. Whereas, I was very clear about my motives for wanting to work here when I arrived in March, my vision has been clouded by setbacks and political turmoil both in Nepal and the rest of the world. Everything that has been going on in the world since September 11th has made me realize how great my need is to touch base with friends and family. My energy reserves have been depleted. It is time for me to refuel and renew my perspective. I hope that I will be able to return to Nepal ready to tackle all that lies ahead. Afterall, it has taken me a long time to reach this point.

At the end of last week (when I wrote the rest of the message) we fixed our dates for beginning the study in the VDC (village development committee) in which I am living (Ishwarpur) and our sub-study DIMAG (mind in Nepali). Because there are 30 VDCs in the study and we cannot start in all of them at the same time, we have decided to start a different batch on four different dates. The last of these dates is December 10th when Ishwarpur will begin. My heart dropped when I heard the study will be starting so close to my proposed trip home. I'm learning how to stand up for myself though and negotiated a later start date for DIMAG. By the time I go home for Christmas, I will have spent 9 months on training. This is the equivalent of an entire school year. What is three more weeks?

It still puzzles me why the training has taken so long. I believe that something might have to do with the fact that everything that I have introduced is new to these field workers. They are used to interviewing, not conducting observations with Palm Pilots, recording the child's eye movements in a computer program, or trying to capture the child's attention when hiding a toy (or rock as we have discovered is more familiar for the children living in this area) in one of two wells for the child to find. Every day they have to use their "dimag" in order to do their job. The team keeps telling me that they aren't used to doing this. They would rather I just tell them what to do so they can do it without thinking. Unfortunately, this isn't possible. We all have to think. Even my cook and our sweeper are learning to think in a new way as they begin to learn the Nepali letters. I would really like for them to know how to read and write before I leave, but translating this idea into practice is turning out to be as big a challenge as the rest of the project is.

In the past month, a sister project has begun in Tanzania. There the group has managed to complete the process of standardization in a month. This news has been difficult for me to digest because it has made me (and some other people) question the work I have been doing for the past 6-months. I have finally come to the conclusion that people are different. Here in Nepal we are doing the best that we can do with the tools that we have. As much as my advisor would like to compare the two sites, some things just aren't comparable. I'm trying to trust that I will be able to achieve our standardization goal and that the project will eventually begin. It feels good to have an official start date. Taking a break will help to renew my perspective.

From October 20th (the day of the Baltimore Marathon) to November 4th I will be trekking in the Sagarmatha (Everest) region of Nepal. My plan is to go to Everest Base Camp; however, this will depend on my ability to adapt to the altitude. Our American director Steve, his wife Penny, their daughter Ariane, and Ariane's friend Kim will be joining me. Although I am excited about having some company, I worry about Ariane's stamina. Ariane is 10 years old and rather chubby. When we attempted a day hike a few weeks ago, Ariane started complaining after the first 200 meters and finally sat down and refused to go any farther after she fell a fraction of the way into the hike. I'm not sure whether I will have to be patient or make a decision to go ahead on my own. I'll play this one by ear. Anyway, I'm really excited about having an opportunity to visit an area of Nepal that I have been reading about since I was a kid. I think it will feel very good to get away from work and be surrounded by the tallest mountains in the world. (Note: I will not be able to access my email between 10/21 and 11/3).

My dates for my trip home have not yet been finalized, but I think I will be in Baltimore between December 10th and 20th (with two days in NYC during this time) and in Atlanta between evening of the 20th and the 27th of December. Originally, I thought it would be very hard for me to return before my project was underway; however, I no longer feel this way. At the moment, I feel a strong need to connect with the people I consider to be my "loved ones". Although I love my work, it is hard always being the center of attention, always being different. I really long to connect with people who know and understand me. I long to walk (or run) down the street without everyone reacting to my presence. I'll let you know once my travel dates have been finalized. Because of the bombing, the price of the ticket, and the fact that I'd really like to get a massage on my way home (I had a dream last night that the latter wasn't possible. needless to say, it wasn't a very good dream), I'll be flying east through Bangkok.

If anything has kept me going these past few months, it is the knowledge that I have friends and family members like all of you. Each and every one of you is truly wonderful. Your presence in my life brings me great joy. Thank you for your gift of friendship and love.

November 9, 2001
Yak bells, mountain peaks, sherpas

Namaste from Kathmandu!

I am feeling very happy at the moment after taking two weeks off to fulfill my childhood dream of trekking to Everest Base Camp, having an opportunity to hang out with my buddy and colleague Gwendolyn here in Kathmandu before she returns to the U.S. at the end of the week, and thinking about flying home to Baltimore and Atlanta for a visit in less than a month. Exercise, seeing the Nepal of my dreams, time with a female friend to discuss feelings and random thoughts, and the promise of seeing people whom I really love.... well, life is good.

So much happened during my trek in the Sagarmatha (Nepali word for Everest. Everest received its English name from the British surveyor who first documented its height.) National Park that I am having trouble figuring out where to begin. To set the mood and make you aware of how different the park is from my village in the Terai, you will have to momentarily erase the images of water buffalos, goats, rice fields, and ox carts that I have described in past emails. Instead, picture yaks and zopkyoks (yaks crossed with cows resulting in shorter haired animals that are able to travel to lower altitudes without getting low altitude sickness) grazing on rocky mountain slopes and bearing heavy burdens as they deftly walk along narrow, rocky trails cut high into cliffs, sherpas bearing loads up to 100 kilograms as they return to their homes, assist foreign trekkers, or attempt to earn some money doing manual labor; and the mountains which can been seen above the clouds and are often illuminated by both sun and moonlight -an unbelievably beautiful sight.

What was originally planned as a solitary trek with a Sherpa guide (it was difficult to recruit friends and family to join me at this time of year) turned into a mass of families brought together by our American director Steve's wife Penny. Penny first invited herself and her daughter to join me and then mentioned the trip to three other families living in Kathmandu. For the first week, there were 15 of us. This number was reduced to 6 the second week after everyone returned to Kathmandu at the end of the school holiday. The Nepalis were celebrating Deshain, which I have discovered focuses more on eating freshly slaughtered goat meat and drinking home-brewed alcohol than anything else. We had enough office celebrations that I didn't feel like I was missing anything to be away (our office staff in the Terai sacrificed goats and ducks to ensure that our project vehicles would run smoothly for another year). Although I was initially overwhelmed by the huge group and energy of the kids (10-13 years old), I enjoyed meeting new people, being a part of a group, and benefiting from the connections Penny made 20 years ago when she worked for 2 years in the region as a high-altitude doctor for the Hillary Trust that was established by Sir Edmund to bring health and education to sherpas living around Everest.

On October 20th we met in Lukla to begin our trek. For the first six days, the 15 of us hiked several hours a day on forest trails past waterfalls, aqua-colored rivers, and stone yak enclosures. We hiked in small groups or alone and met in a designated lodge at the end of the day. One of the biggest challenges during this time was getting the kids packed and moving in the morning and motivated along the trail and when walking up the hills. The day that I enjoyed hiking with the kids the most was the day that we all hiked from Penny's old home in Khunde where we were the beneficiaries of Sherpa hospitality to Tengboche, home of a huge monastery. On that day I was in charge of looking after two 10-year old girls. We barely noticed the steep hill that we had to walk up because we were so immersed in our conversation about boys, periods, and female friendships. I'm around females so seldom here in Nepal that I really enjoyed being one of the girls.

After the group shrank, there were only 6 of us. Matt, an 18-year old boy from England who just traveled to Nepal to do a 6-month internship with CARE Nepal, and I spent the majority of the next week hiking together. Together we hiked to Everest Base Camp (so exciting for both of us), up Kala Pattar (18,192 ft.), and over the Cho La Pass. We made a decision to separate from the others in order to hike over the pass and see a different area of the Sagarmatha National Park. By that point, I was tired of having so much responsibility for the two remaining kids and really wanted to be quiet and think. The pass proved to be the most difficult challenge because it entailed hard hiking up and down very steep slopes covered with wobbly boulders that were a part of the moraine left by the glacier that is now cradled by the pass. We found entertainment at the top when we encountered an Italian group enthusiastically singing Italian ballads in celebration of their achievement; however, our challenge was intensified after we missed the trail on the other side and spent several hours lost in a very remote area of the park. As darkness approached, the clouds moved in, and a huge ridge stood between us and where we wanted to sleep for the night, we wondered if we would have to stay in a cave, as sherpa porters are often forced to do when the lodges are full. Outside one cave we saw several bleached yak bones and wondered if the yeti (abominable snowman of the Himalayas) had been there before us. It was Halloween, a full moon, and we were exhausted. We made it up the ridge only to find a steep, rocky, scree slope on the other side. I was in pain from an achilles injury and have a fear of descending scree slopes under normal circumstances; nevertheless, I followed Matt down and focused on making it to shelter. We did it and savored a chocolate bar in celebration.

When people think of trekking, I believe images such as the ones that I have described come to mind. The challenges are many, but the majority of them have to do with matching one's physical limits with the terrain. The difference in the Sagarmatha National Park has to do with the altitude. Our group went slowly and made sure that we spent two nights every time we rose 2,000 feet. The worst symptoms of altitude sickness that I experienced were splitting headaches that kept me awake two different nights, swollen hands and face, and a slight loss of appetite. I took the drug Diamox, as did most of the other trekkers in the region, to help regulate my breathing and body's ability to adapt to the high elevation. Apparently, being iron deficient makes an individual more prone to altitude sickness, so as a means of prevention I pumped my body with iron supplements beginning a few weeks before we left KTM. The weird thing about AMS (acute mountain sickness) is the fact that it has the potential to affect anyone: old, young, fit, unfit, etc. During our trip we heard of several deaths. The one that had the greatest impact on me was a Japanese woman's death. Apparently, the woman woke up with a horrible headache, began bleeding from the nose, and then died (AMS kills a person after the blood clots in the brain and blocks the supply of oxygen). Although I do not know who she was, we were staying in the same village around the same time. I wonder if she was the kind middle-aged woman who squeezed by me one morning to sit by her husband to enjoy a breakfast of canned fruit and warm flatbread (chapati). It appears that she probably ignored many preliminary symptoms and refused to descend; however, we will never know the details of her case. I think the reason that I couldn't get her death out of my mind was the simple fact that it could have been anyone, even me. Yesterday as I was running errands around KTM, I ran into another traveler who had also just returned from the Everest region. He reported that 9 trekkers had died while he was trekking. These aren't the people who attempt to climb peaks. I haven't even mentioned the Spanish expedition that was killed last week by an avalanche while trying to summit Pulmori, a mountain that faces Everest. The media always focuses on the expeditions. It tells you who manages to summit and who doesn't. What it never mentions is how difficult it is to reach base camp (Everest and others) and how many people die just trying to do that.

This week I received an email from a friend who asked me to elaborate on why the trek has left me feeling optimistic and hopeful, especially in light of everything happening in the world. After a lot of thought, I believe that my answer has to do with the awesome power of the Himalayas. Being surrounded by some of the tallest mountains in the world, being so close to nature, and witnessing the fortitude of the sherpas who are so much a part of the Everest region made the anxiety that I felt about my job and the world situation seem insignificant. Maybe I just needed to take some time for myself to live one of my dreams in order to make me feel grounded. I hate the bombing and am not in favor of many of the U.S. policies that have been initiated since Sept. 11th; however, I remain hopeful that there will be peace again. I think that the first step towards peace, though, is finding it inside of us. With everything happening in each of our lives and all the demands that are placed upon us, this can be the biggest challenge. This week I have found myself ringing the yak bell that I brought back with me to Kathmandu in order to evoke the mood of the trip. Hopefully, it will continue to serve as a reminder of all that I did and saw when life begins to feel hectic again.

So, this is one of a few trips that I have planned to do while I am living here in Nepal. There will be others. With this email, I extend a personal invitation to each of you to join me on a future trip. I couldn't think of anything better than to travel with a friend or family member.

Peace.








  ¶ 1:55 AM