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.
