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KANDA
The morning of our first full day in Kanda began with a smiling Indian child bearing 2 steaming cups of chai. The mornings are chilly here in the mountains and the spicy beverage is the perfect blanket. Our conversations with Jeevan continued and we echoed our concerns and ideas to our Canadian / Australian counterparts. We arranged with Jeevan to visit some of the homes that he had in mind for the lights. We walked the new road that is still under construction, past groups of men breaking stone by hand (Nepalese men, Jeevan informed us). Below the road, dirt pathways lead us to small double room houses. After a few visits, it was apparent to us that there is a great need here. Many of the homes on Jeevan's list were of widows or abandoned women with children. Many were one room homes with little to no furniture, all without electricity. One home in particular belongs to an employee of Jeevan's. To get to her house, we followed the winding footpath up the mountain from Jeevan's and entered the stable of another larger home. Pushing aside goats and cattle, stooping beneath the low ceiling, our host reached up to open a small trapdoor in the ceiling, and motioned us through. The small hole barely fit us and we clambered up to emerge in an 8x8 foot room with one window. Whatever doubts we had were quickly disappearing, and we couldn't wait to get to work.
On the morning of day three, we addressed our issue with the community center. The way we looked at it, with no second floor and roof, there could be no light installation. Jeeven's men had been collecting stone and sand for bricks, but ROSE had no money for cement and rebar to build the walls. We had at least 2 weeks until our lights would arrive, so we decided to spend the remaining money we had from our donations and buy as much cement and rebar as we could get our hands on. That decision made...Jeevan, Ethan, and I set out on foot for the market, a kilometer up the mountain side.
Cruising the Kanda market with Jeevan was like being with the Godfather of Kanda. Men sitting on the retaining wall in groups jumped up and folded their hands, nodded slowly, and greeted him, "Namaste.". He returned the greeting (as did we) with a small smile and gentle nod. (Slowly, slowly) we made our way through the market, obviously intent on a specific destination, but in no hurry to get there. Jeevan waved and spoke with nearly everyone we passed, but we never stopped our snail-like pace. As we passed a large truck filled with men unloading cattle feed, Jeevan jumped up to the door, peered in the window, and started shouting in Hindi. The driver of the truck yelled back. This went on for a minute or so then Jeevan jumped off, motioned us on and continued up the road. He stopped at a food market and leaned on the counter. The conversation between himself and the shopkeeper seemed non-chalont, two country boys chewing the fat. Jeevan kept his eyes on the street as they seemed to debate a subject. Finally, Jeevan nodded and said to me, "Ok, you give this man 3000 rupees." Apparently, he had been bargaining concrete prices. During the next hour or so, we followed Jeevan around the market as he talked to various people. He would take them by the arm, lead them a small distance away, and hold onto them as he bargained for different material. We could not imagine attempting this on our own. Some of the concrete bags were loaded into the truck we procured, the rest would be brought by Nepalese laborers. The cheap labor of this area, they are renowned for carrying heavy loads long distances. The sight of them in pairs, concrete bags weighing over 100 pounds strapped to their heads with a strap, marching like ants at a picnic up the mountainside is quite impressive. We set off down the road in the truck, stopping once more to go through the whole ordeal again for rebar. On the way back to Jeevan's, he asked me to climb in the back of the truck to stand on the rebar, holding it in the truck during the jarring ride. It was a satisfying moment...rumbling down the road, dust and wind in my face, mountain scenery rolling by, literally holding down the raw material to construct a permanent locality for community building in Kanda.
In the days since then we have fallen into a steady routine. Up at 7:00, tea immediately, and time to read, write or send emails if the power is on. Breakfast is at 9:00, usually chipate (flatbread) and dhal (lentils). Begin work at 10, hauling water jugs down the mountainside to make concrete and constructing bricks in the hot sun. The amount of locals that come to watch us work has prompted many jokes by Ethan and I. With no music, we've taken turns singing songs as we work. We take a tea break at 12:00, lunch at 2:00 (rice and dhal with some vegetables). We finish around 5:00 and head back to the house to heat water over the outdoor fireplace for a hot bucket "shower". At this time of day I try to write, but usually end up playing games with the kids around the house. Pick up games of cricket with a stick bat and goat turds seems to be the most popular. While having races the other day with the kids on our shoulders we discovered that the pine cones on the low hanging branches of trees will shower a person with green pollen dust when shaken. We promptly started deliberately running into the branches with kids on our shoulders, covering their hair and shirts in a fine green coating. This caused intense laughter all around. The combination of that and the thin mountain air had me holding my knees, trying to catch my breath.
Dinner is usually around 8:30 (chipate with dhal and alu-gobi, a potato / cabbage curry, and some goat meat if we're lucky). Portions are huge. Hema, Jeevan's wife is not usually happy until we eat at least a large second portion. Her English, from what I can tell, is limited to, "Rice? Alu-gobi? Chipati? Anything more? Eat! Eat!" After dinner we usually lie around the small dining room / living room / Jeevan and Hema's bedroom and practice Hindi or discuss work progress. On occasion, Jeevan pours us a small glass of rum from a bottle he keeps hidden. This is the time of day we get to know the family.
Jeevan is the obvious patriarch. He has been hosting visitors since 1985 and has been a community activist since even earlier. Before taking on this role full time he owned a small jewelry shop. He has a full belly and face, a skinny, steel grey mustache and matching hair that is receding to the crown of his head.
His wife, Hema, runs the show around the house. Other than food words, she speaks entirely in Hindi. She frequently shouts or speaks rapidly with an intensity that only a woman attempting to feed 13 people every day could. When she's excited, her large eyes seem to double in size, likely to spring forth on the family member at the receiving end of her sharp tongue. She also smiles large when someone makes a joke, but is all business for the most part. She is skinny as a rail and her brown face is deeply furrowed by work in the sun. Her grin is missing several teeth. I have seen her console a crying grandchild and carry a log on her head in the same hour.
Jeevan's son Jeet...we haven't made up our mind about yet. On job sites he does more sitting and giving orders than working. This is a quality that will make me loose my patience all too quickly and I mostly ignore him on the job site. At home he can be humorous, using what little English he has. Recent British volunteer arrivals to the village said that he was quite comforting to his wife during a recent hospital visit. This dramatically improved my opinion of him, and I'm trying to keep an open mind. He has much to improve on if he intends to take over his father's organization one day.
Jeet's wife is very shy around us. She works closely with Hema in the kitchen and around the farm. Her sari (sign of a married woman) and jewelry accent her natural beauty and graceful way she carries herself around the house. We were informed by a family member that she has had several miscarriages (reason for the hospital visit) and I'm sure this adds to her reserved nature around the family and us. Young women who recently marry into and join a household are held to strict standards before being given a certain status in the family...bearing children is not the least of these.
Renu is Jeevan's youngest daughter still at home, she is 23. One of her sisters is off at college in the nearby city of
Two of Jeevan's grandchildren have lived at the farm for the past 6 years. They are the children of one of his daughters that cannot afford to raise them. Rushee is 12. She attends a local private school and is quick to change out of her uniform when she returns to run around with the boys. She helps around the house / farm alot, but is quick to argue and seems to share her grandmother's ability to strike out with her words. Her brother, Gautam, is 8 and is certainly the most easy going in the family. He wants to play games constantly and frequently has a part of his last meal smeared on his shirt or face. He likes to join Ethan and I in our pullup / pushup routine and his efforts put us in stitches laughing. He smiles so big it forces his eyes nearly closed. He earnestly does his homework at night, and his English reading is excellent.
Sedju is Jeevan's youngest son. He is 15, tall and skinny and seems to not have decided if he is still a boy or a young man. He walks with the men and tries to contribute to the conversations, but will then leave to play games with the kids and takes to bossing them around. While all the men we've been around are very mellow and rarely raise their voices, Sedju is constantly shrieking in his mid-pubescent voice...scolding the small children for seemingly minor offenses. On occasion he strikes them or holds them down roughly to yell. At first, we didn't want to get involved, but quickly Ethan and I started to intervene, evening the score for the little guys. Guatam has spunk, and fights back.
Delays in the delivery of our light shipment have put us a bit behind schedule. Ethan and I decided to set out for the
Like all traveling, life in
LATA
Ethan tracked down a guide for us in the Himalayan streets of Joshemath. For amazingly cheap, the man agreed to take us up Kuari pass (4500m) and stay at his house in the remote village of Lata. Upon investigation at the
After chai and potatoes on the snowy summit, we began to descend. Apparently we were not supposed to be up on this peak (permit required) and were flying below the radar. To avoid being seen coming off the mountain and back into the village, our guide led us off trail with over 1000 meters (3300 feet) left to descend. At first we followed game trails and enjoyed sliding through the snow. But, as the terrain became steeper, the snow muddier, and we had to routinely crash through thorn bushes, I lost my sense of humor. I could have blundered down the side of a mountain on my own, I didn't need a guide to show me how. After a few hours of this, emerging from the brush on a snowy precipice, I piped up. "Alright pal, where's a trail?! A good trail, there has to be one!" He motioned us on and eventually we came upon a steep human trail that led to the road at the valley floor. 10 hours after starting, we crawled into our sleeping bags at his house to doze and eat the afternoon away.
Our guide, Raju's house is typical of the area. Concrete floors, mud and stone walls, and rock or tin roofs...the place is unheated and smells of goats. He shares the small house with his brother and his brother's wife, some of their children, and his own son. His wife passed away 2 months before and his brother's wife had taken over the maternal responsibilities for the child. His brother had been a successful trekking and mountaineering guide, the list of peaks he had ascended in the area was impressive. He had been blinded during an expedition 20 year ago, he told us this the first night we arrived. He apparently could see within a few feet and came very close during introduction to see our faces. From what we could gather from the conversation (his English was clear, but limited), he had experienced bad snow-blindness on the 3 week expedition (snow blindness is caused by the sun's reflection off the snow directly hitting the retinas, over prolonged periods it has the same effect as staring at the sun). After returning from the mountain climb, we talked further and learned he has actually survived a bad fall on a summit approach. He came of the headwall and slid 1000m down the face and broke his neck. We sat on beds in our sleeping bags in the 12 x 8 foot mud room, drinking homemade wine (that tasted like saki) and smoking hand rolled cigarettes...listening to the man's tales. Later, Ethan would rewire the electricity to the room. They were stealing from the village power supply and their system of bare wires and hooks was quite frightening.
Our arrival in Joshemath 3 days before was achieved by one of the most mentally exhausting travel days I've ever had. We spent 14 hours taking a series of jeeps and buses to our destination from Kanda. Public transportation only goes from one town to the next and back. I believe it took 8 separate rides to complete the journey. Each one began with us unloading from a bus or jeep and wandering around the town calling out the names of towns on the route until a driver snatched us up. The closer we got to Josemath the hairier the roads became. We boarded the final bus at sundown. Shortly after leaving town the bus was lurching around hairpin turns on a single dirt track road, cut out of the cliff side. 600 foot cliffs rose and fell from either side of the crumbling road, no guard rail of course. Then the lightning started...and the wind. The locals began to muter to each other and yelled to the bus driver...never a good sign. He finally pulled over. By this time the night had fallen and the rain had come. We sat in the bus listening to the gusts that rocked the bus back and forth, gravel peppered the windows, the rain came in sheets. Ethan and I debated whether we should get of the bus and hoof it back to the last town, rather than chance continuing. Indian bus drivers are notoriously overconfident in their speed and driving ability..it borders on insanity. When he did start out again, Ethan cursed and I prayed, clutching the St. Christopher medallion that hangs around my neck...then I joined Ethan in cursing. An hour later, we arrived in town, nerves shot to hell, ready to kiss the sweet ground of the filthy mountain army post we had arrived in...Joshemath.
