Our dear Bal has created a book about ANSWER and Nepal. It’s a great way to introduce your friends to the organization, so buy a copy today.

[click a thumbnail to view it at a larger size]

As you know, I come to Nepal in the spring each year to help oversee the turnover of one school year into the next as this is the time in when we take in new children and settle our books. At the same time, your spring letters are distributed and the students’ responses collected…usually Bal with some of our student volunteers handle the letter writing while the accounts are settled by Som and recorded by Bal.

ANSWER is blessed with honest, dedicated staff in Nepal—Som and Bal, our co-directors, Som is the administrator and Bal does the “accounting. Chanak (Som’s brother) is our liaison with the older students. Chanak also works with Jailina in organizing the Saturday program at the schools which we call the Social Welfare Club. So, each has been dutifully honed to fit into their niche. They are paid a pittance compared to similar positions with other NGOs because Som is such a “good boss” to work for, hours are flexible, and they get to travel about the country (fun and discovery). Bal and Chanak are also fulltime students, so Som allows time off as term exam time approaches and a tuition stipend…after all, we are an educational organization. When they complete their respective Masters degrees in 1-2 years, we may lose them to higher paying jobs, but for the time being ANSWER is well run in Nepal….so, why do they need me?

To say that I provide the necessary oversight to assure that corruption and graft do not seep in is to discredit the loyalty and dedication of everyone who works so hard. Nevertheless, it is better to have an ounce of prevention….It is probably easier for me to admit than for most of you to understand that my presence is to a large degree “ceremonial”, but it is this ceremony that empowers ANSWER. In most of the developing world, white-skinned Westerners are put on pedestals and most everyone wants to associate with and please the “gods.” Eight years ago while I was working in Ghana canvassing the country for polio, Mary Jane followed me for a month, and she will never forget a receptionist in one of the provincial health posts who remarked, “Madam, Americans are like gods, and America is heaven.” Mary Jane clutched her

hands in her own as if they were praying together and said, “No dear, I am the same as you; we are sisters.” I’m sure this was comforting, but it could not dispel her deep-found beliefs that Americans are omnipotent and omniscient. Even the poorest, most remote Nepalis know that Western Education and Western Medicine are far superior to theirs—they just cannot afford it or access it. For me to dispense a drug is like a religious sacrament coming from a high priest, and I have never had a problem with their compliance…and I am meticulous about follow-up.

All this to say that the “ceremonial role” I play with the principals is what gives our staff the credibility to do their job. To visit a school, walk around the school yard with the principal, discuss our ideas of producing leaders from the low castes by means of their institutions, and going over the report cards together and discussing individual problems is what empowers the principals to work cooperatively on our behalf. Som is always saying, “Boss, Nepalis only make words with each other, you make it happen. I need you to do this.”

Although I take full advantage of this, most Nepalis, even principals, think that Americans are made of money and they can just make words with me, too. When this happens I assume the guise of the God of Yore, and they feel His full fury. Last year, at one school a little boy Sanjay had missed almost a third of his classes, and I was sitting with the principal who was feeling high and mighty behind his desk.

Mary Jane was sitting beside me and the boy’s illiterate mother next to her. “Principal, sir,” I began, “I understand the problem perfectly. The boy is too young to know to come to school everyday without the help and support of the mother. I see this problem over and over again.” And then I stood up, put my hands on his desk, and began my rant. “You say you have told the mother to send the child to school, but she is illiterate and doesn’t have the slightest idea of the commitment that educating a child demands. You, Mr. Principal-sir, know full well about what is required. You are highly educated and intelligent; she is not. It is not up to her, it is not up to me 10,000 miles away to see that her boy comes to school.” At this point I went over to the wall and started banging my head against the wall and shouting, “Why is it that Nepalis think their job is simply to tell someone else to do it? It is like I keep banging my head against the wall and the wall never moves.” The principal was alarmed and pleaded for me to sit down and stop banging my head. So, I defiantly banged it against the wall a couple more times just so he knew that his power over me was depleted. I then sat down, and looked him in the eyes. “Principal-sir, if you are an educator, you will do what it takes to educate.

I don’t care what it takes to make this child come to school, but you had better well do whatever to make sure he comes. You have all the power to see that this comes about; the boy, the mother, nor I do not. This is your responsibility.” The mother, not understanding a word, watched wide-eyed, confused and fearful. Mary Jane with a comforting hand on the mother’s knee to keep her from running out, was steadfast, and didn’t say a word. Finally, we concluded and we pulled away in our cab, and then she and Som began to laugh. “What a performance!” quipped MJ. So, this year when we visited the school, all of the children were doing well, and little Sanjay had only missed 2 of 200 days since my last visit. Instead of banging my head, I gave the principal a warm “Namaste” and a firm handshake. “Principal-sir, you have done a fine job, let us look at some more candidates for us to support.”

More Acting Out
I wish I could say this was an isolated task, but this year we had two more schools that had ignored my request to hold back 4 students that were failing, or nearly so, in other schools. They also failed to institute extra-hour classes to assist them. I had been simmering for six months from the previous first term’s report card, and as we approached the first school where three of our little girls were still failing (Neelam, Puja, and Surakshya) I was ready to explode. I went in and calmly looked through 8 report cards, took out the three and stamped into see the accountant while the principal talked with some parents in the next room. But, the principal’s door was open and the wall between us was glass from the waist up, so he could see and hear everything. “Mr. Accountant-sir, I thought I had enrolled these children in Creative Academy. You call this Creative?” and I threw the three report cards on his desk. We spent a huge amount for you to save these girls, instead you have insured their demise! The Principal saw and heard everything and spoke up from behind his desk. I then turned to him and said, “Puja 48%, Surakshya 42%, and Neelam failed with just 33% and was absent 45 days—How can you say they are progressing? We asked you to hold them back and give them extra-tuition classes, and you went right ahead and treated them as you wished. I am through talking to you! You have destroyed the lives of these three girls,” and with that I turned to the accountant who asked me to take a seat and ran out.

Within a minute, a wonderfully intelligent, articulate and helpful woman named Sumitra entered the room and asked me to join her in the next office. We had met a few years before and she knew me under better circumstances, and so she was sympathetically cooperative. I told her that we had one chance to save these girls when we transferred them here as they needed to be held back from the beginning, not flunked before their schoolmate’s eyes. I don’t know if there is any way to save them now.” We talked for thirty minutes, trying to devise a plan. (Sumitra’s daughter was getting married and moving out, so she even offered to house one girl in her own home if necessary.) It would be expensive but they would feed, keep, and tutor the girls before and after school for 13 hrs per day (6am to 7pm!) as their homes were entirely without structure, but Creative Academy would deduct half the cost as she felt the school had failed in their task. We then brought the girls in and told them if they missed a single day of school that there education was finished. Nothing short of death was an excuse! They would miss the school bus after school, so their mothers would have to walk them home from school each evening—a distance measured in miles. Some six weeks later, all three girls are repeating their classes, “liking” school and coming everyday, and are now truly progressing. One mother even relocated her home to be next to the school!

The other failing girl is located 200 miles from Katmandu, so I repeated my performance for that audience two weeks ago. It is a bit premature to measure her progress, but if it takes a screaming, raving Yankee to help our kids, why not? WWGD (What would Gandhi Do?). Alas, some of our children, regardless how much we try, seem to be beyond our ability to help…their poverty, ignorance, and/or their father’s drunkenness, are all huge obstacles to helping them help themselves. After ANSWER’s first year or two, Som became “big hearted” and started ignoring our criteria for sponsorship: bright and needy, and motivated parents. Instead he was reaching out trying to help the neediest. So, too many from unmotivated households came into our program. Although many are progressing, slowly limping forward, Som and I have been severely hampered by all the coaching, correcting, and oversight that has been required.

As we come up to 500 students under our program, ten percent of our students are taking up half of our time in oversight. We have decided that we cannot afford to hire more staff to nurse them along. Our mission is to produce educated “leaders” from the disenfranchised, but some of our choices will never become “leaders.”

For the past two years, I have assumed control of the final selection process to insure that our original criteria were followed. This has corrected the problem of taking on an additional burden of children (only one in the last 150 selected is NOT doing well). In addition, we began issuing, “Last Chance” warnings to a number of families, so I knew that this year would be a tough year of separating sheep from goats (I think this is a good analogy as I am not saying that one is inferior to the other, but that we cannot herd them together….we have to chose). There is, at least, an unintended bonus in making our cuts: the attendance and performance of our remaining children instantly improves.

The Madheshi and the Terai

In the south of Nepal, along the lowland border to India called the Terai, are millions of Nepal’s dispossessed. Many are impoverished, landless, illiterate, devout Hindus who don’t even speak Nepali. Many are tenant farmers who farm the lands of the rich and receive a portion of the harvest. Som who is a Brahmin from this area, was himself poor and grew up with Madeshi children as playmates. He knows their ways, can speak their language (Maithali), and has a big spot in his heart in wanting to help them, and so, he began selecting them. I too am very sympathetic as we have spent years trying to educate the Kapri clan who emigrates from the Terai to Katmandu to beg ten months of the year in the tourist centers of Katmandu.

However, since the People’s Movement two years ago which brought the cessation to the Maoist War in Nepal, violence has now erupted in the South against the new settlers of the Terai from the northern hills (many of whom are Maoists and anti-King). Many of these highland immigrants are now living in large numbers in the Terai lowlands as the deadly mosquitoes here have been widely controlled and large tracts of rainforests have been cleared and cultivated. Since the Maoists have demonstrated how effective violent “political action” can be, the Madeshi began taking up weapons and resorting to their own forms of “coercive taxation” (abduction, torture, murder). Finally, the situation exploded when a large gang of armed Madheshi slaughtered 24 unarmed Maoists in the border town of Gaur two years ago. Since then, violence and threats have been increasing. Even though many of the children we were supporting were from these desperately poor Madheshi communities, a principal of one of our schools was abducted and held for ransom (which was negotiated down and paid). Som’s father, an old man in his 70s, was forced to pay “protection money.” One of our Madeshi children, in fact, dropped out of school and joined this “liberation movement of thugs.” But the clincher came when our staff became extremely fearful of even visiting areas of the Terai to do the oversight and make our payments. They, too, could be kidnapped and held for ransom—surely everyone knows the American who visits each year is plenty rich!

We were hopeful that the impending election would put everyone on their best behavior, but instead all factions and parties became all the more intimidating to win friends and influence. We, therefore, decided to discontinue support for all of our students in one school in Rajbiraj, and thin out some of the other schools in case the violence didn’t subside. Unfortunately, many of these are Nepal’s neediest. Even so, we have preserved our more promising Madheshi students and resume looking when things settle down.

Frog Jokes
Humor is almost always culturally based/biased, and I heard a joke the other day that Nepalis tell that points to this phenomenon of keeping the Joneses down vis-à-vis keeping up with them. In Janakpur, Som’s home village, his father was inundated by protesting parents who wanted to know why their child was discontinued while others were not…We reminded them that many warnings were given and even our “Final Warnings” to them were not heeded. However, it seemed that what they resented was the continuation of other children vis-à-vis their own being discontinued! Som has told me before it is always easier to cancel an entire cadre of our students than to do just one or two. On several occasions the radical Young Communist League, responding to a parental complaint, has confronted Som about a cancelled child in a village. When threatened by the YCL, Som bravely retorts, “OK, if you don’t want us helping poor children in your village, we will discontinue all and leave your village!” That usually puts the matter to rest.

Joke 1: One day, a Nepali entrepreneur decided he would capture Nepali frogs and begin exporting them to gastronomies in France. When he delivered the first of his boxes to the Air Cargo dock, the official said that they could not be shipped “as is” because the boxes didn’t have tops. “Oh, Sir,” said the man, “you need not worry. These are Nepali frogs! If one should try to jump out, the others will pounce on him and hold him down!” Although most Nepalis understand this immediately and can laugh at themselves this way, I wonder how many of you would have understood the humor without first picturing the incident of disgruntled parents complaining about the fact that we retained some students.

Last week while gunning westward along the King’s Highway in our rented mini-van visiting schools and overseeing the children’s progress, we were talking about the folly of our assumptions. Riding along in the back was Rabin, one of our very bright high school graduate who is waiting for his SLC test results. We invited him along to assist the children in reading and writing their letters at our stops. Next to him was Bal, our co-director, Christiane, a 20 year old education student from N. Michigan University, Mary Jane and I. Mary Jane then told the joke of the mad scientist who was experimenting on frogs. His first experiment was to cut off the right leg, yell “Jump, frog, jump” and observe the response. Sure enough, the frog jumped. He repeated this experiment on the same frog, cutting off an additional limb, and shouting, “Jump, frog, jump.” Sure enough the frog continued to hop, although each time with less strength than before. Finally, when all four limbs had been amputated, he said, “Jump, frog, jump,” and sure enough the frog without legs could not hop. “Ah, ha!” proclaimed the mad scientist, “the frog is now deaf!” Christiane and I laughed; Bal and Rabin just stared. So, MJ retold the tale…finally, Bal got it and explained to Rabin the mistaken assumption that a frog’s ears were assumed to be distributed along its legs! Other Nepalis also have trouble understanding the humor. I am “assuming” that the basis of the humor in this joke is not just cultural, but reveals a fundamental flaw in the way Nepalis are educated. For a young education student like Christiane, this joke was instructive in highlighting the flaws of rote learning without sufficient emphasis being placed on developing the analytical skills in children.

Ram Chandra and the Madheshi of the Manohara River
As some of you may recall, we had tried to mainstream some Madheshi children whose families migrate annually from their mud-and-wattle homes in the Terai to Katmandu and illegally “squat” in tents on the flood banks of the Manohara River in order to beg off the tourists. For generations, they were once a clan of “hemp-twisters” (these are rope-makers, not reefer-rollers), but progress left them to tenant farming when industries displaced their skills. The women by and large do not speak Nepali, but Maithali, and only one or two of the men can read and write. Ram Chandra is the intellectual of the group with a 5th grade education but is extremely competent and advocated for us in countless ways, not the least of which, he constructed the Bamboo Clinic where I treated them for worms, skin infections, and a host of other diseases. The Clinic was used as a school for three hours in the morning for three or four months before the little children were taken by the mothers to the squares to beg for money from the tourists. After that, we transitioned six boys to a public (government) school, and the subsequent year this group had grown to ten boys.

Last year, however, the families with children stayed put in their home village in the Terai because of the violence raging in the South and the growing strength of the Maoists upland. Their village is just ten miles from the infamous town of Gaur where the 24 Maoists were brutally slaughtered by the local Madheshi. So, it is little wonder that those with families were reluctant to leave their numbers behind and return to Katmandu. I recall one morning several years back, visiting their enclave in Katmandu the morning after a few of them were nursing wounds inflicted by a Maoist gang who were trying to “tax” them. Knives were pulled and a melee broke out. The wounds were already dressed when I arrived, but the Maoists must have taken a hit because a few days later the Maoists in greater numbers again visited… this time for “hospital money for the victim(s)” which Ram Chandra had to collect and pay. Reinforced by a history of violence and suppression, as well as religious and ethnic differences, there is no love lost between the Maoists and Madeshi.

Again, this year, our Madheshi friends failed to return to Katmandu. Although we had heard rumors that the ten students were continuing to go to school last year, we had no one to ask about his year. Now, we were driving westward through the Terai along he Kings Highway. Soon, we arrived at the road which ran south to their village and we decided we would try to pay a “courtesy call” and find out for ourselves. Their village has no name and is sprawled out over a large terrain. Som would get out and ask if anyone knew Ram Chandra which was unproductive until he pulled out a photo of him and me. Everyone recognized him, but it wasn’t until we unknowingly pulled up in front of a small electronics store that he owned (!) did anyone know his name. They pointed us down a road, and we drove along until a man on a bicycle recognized “the bideshi” (“the foreigner”=me) and spun around in hot pursuit. It was Prithi, clean shaven on top with a big handle bar mustache that matched his ear-to-ear smile.

We embraced and Som translated. He led us to the little gathering of mud-and-wattle huts that held their belongings amidst a cluster of tall trees that provided shade from the scorching sun. As we approached, everyone came running out and surrounded us as if Quatzecoatl were returning to Tenochtitlan. Som even remarked, “You bideshi with your white skins! They welcome you like gods.” But he knows that we have history, and their appreciation was not forgotten. We stood around talking and taking pictures with them. I was so distracted I forgot to pull out my video cam to really document the occasion and am kicking myself still!

Pitched in front of the huts were their familiar tents in which they preferred to sleep as they were cooler—the evening breezes can pass through were pitched. Their bicycles are stashed in their door-less houses, and they slept in the equivalent of our “carports”. The tents consisted of a large blue polyvinyl tarp over which are stretched beautiful cotton fabrics which whisk up the rain before it seeps through the seams and keeps the tent from leaking. Some of the tents were being repaired for the upcoming monsoon season with additional patches of fabric carefully cut and sewn adding a quilt-like appearance to the patterns in the fabric. Here, as on the banks of the Manohara River, their tents add color and artistry to their encampment.

We learned that Ram Chandra was away tending to his land (I later learned that this didn’t mean farming, but something like registering or filing ownership papers), so we were disappointed to miss him. However, his wife Pramila with their 2 y.o. daughter was there beaming—we had help them conceive after 17 years of a childless marriage. The child had saved their marriage as Ram was debating of taking on a second wife to ensure his legacy. Chun-chun, Ram’s chief rival because he had 8 children, 7 of which were boys ,wants to preserve tradition and is strongly anti-education because he feels that earning power should be proportional to the number of children who beg! Nevertheless, he too was not shy in sharing center stage with us, and greeted us warmly.

We then enquired about the children—were any of the boys continuing their education? We found out that several were in the government school and 3 or 4 of them were even attending an English-speaking, private school nearby! This I had to see to believe! It was a 5 minute walk to the school and most of the Kapris left their camp and walked with us. When we arrived, we found a small, 2-story school with a few bikes parked in front….obviously the teachers’. We entered the principal’s office, and found out that he was away. By the time the vice principal emerged, half of the crowd had joined us in the office while the rest of the crowded jammed around just outside the door. Som and the Vice Principal talked for a while before 3 boys were led in. Som found out that the oldest was now in the 2nd grade and was regular, the other two were less so. Som also explained that the school, although a private school, was very poor and the teachers were paid only $1 per day because the community was so impoverished—the teachers survived only because they were also paid to give extra tutorial classes.

As something was definitely happening at the school, neighbors and passersby also began to amass outside the school. Crowd management was becoming an issue and Som, sensing this, felt we needed to explain why we had come and to move out. It was time to discuss the issue and come to a decision. Som knew that we cannot just hand out free scholarships to all the Kapris, but we could kill two birds with one stone by offering extra-hour tutoring classes to all Kapris who would send their children to this school. The VP agreed it was feasible and would help support the school, and when it was offered up our Kapris were all cheers and smiles. But, the passersby were ready to pounce like Nepali frogs to prevent this from happening. Som explained our close relationship over the years with the Kapris in Katmandu, and that we could not afford to do this for the entire community at this point. The Kapris were pumped up and supported us. The Vice Principal came forward and publicly supported the decision by speaking to the crowd and while everyone was debating the issue, a few of us went around clitterbugging the occasion. I was making a special effort to lobby Chun-chun to enroll some of his boys as our extra classes would be free and would help them too. Som finally gave the word and motioned us to the van, “It’s a done deal. We better leave now as our presence just makes it worse.” We all hopped in and waved goodbye or cupped our hands together in the “Namaste” salute, and headed away. Som was laughing, amazed that we had once again emerged from an adventure and a narrow escape, and now we could only wait and see.

Two weeks later, back in Katmandu, Som received a phone call from Ram Chandra. He had returned to his village and found that we had made a call. Now that he was in Katmandu, probably because of his land issue, he wanted to meet us before I fly off. At the end of the day we had agreed to meet a bus-stop, so on the way back to our Guest House our taxi stopped…and there was Ram Chandra, all smiles. As always we Namaste-ed, then shook hands and then embraced. He wanted to report that there were now 11 Kapri boys enrolled in the school! Som had indeed picked a win-win scenario, but he told Ram, “Remind the parents that they boys must be regular in their attendance!” I congratulated him on a beautiful daughter and how big she had grown (childhood mortality is very high in this group)!—“Will she be attending school next year?” I asked. Som laughed and spoke for him, “You don’t have to worry, boss. Ram Chandra will educate his daughter.” Ram Chandra understood enough to nod and smile. She will be the Kapris’ first girl to ever go to school!

Dear Friends and Sponsors,

Like many of you this is my favorite time of year. I become very reflective and think over the Seasons now past. I think of my father who even in his eighties was serpentining Xmas lights through the trees in the yard and climbing up a ladder to run them along the fascia of his home. Or I remember the bittersweet time my daughter Maya, then 8, and I took the train on Christmas Eve to Granny’s just a few weeks after her mother died… and while crossing the Siskiyou Mtns, we looked out the window to see the snow fall, bedecking a fairy land in white. During the evening the conductor, dressed as Santa, came down the aisle passing out candy canes while we read “The Polar Express.” I am sure all of you have memories like these.

In contrast, my Holidays now have me chasing my tail getting these letters out to all of you, working on our Holiday Benefit, receiving guests, and trying to make travel plans to reunite with family so far away. All this comes on the heels of our two week tour of Western Turkey, the homeland of the real St. Nicolas. Mary Jane and I visited Troy, the expansive ruins of ancient cities like Ephesus and Pergamum, the amazing white-washed springs of Pamukkale, the caves and Fairy Chimneys of Cappadocia, and the many sites in Istanbul—Topkapi, Sophia Hagia, the Blue Mosque, etc.
We connected with helpful carpet salesmen who were undoubtedly the same little boys who were selling postcards to us on the same block ten years before. The more we travel, the more we see the world as one big family, and never more so than when we flew back the day after our election. Every one of our porters, tour guides and bus drivers were exuberantly celebrating OUR election returns, “Obama! Obama! US #1!” (Turkey is a Muslim country whose populace had only a 2% approval rating for our government!)

To go abroad, meet and talk with people everywhere, natives and tourists alike, one comes away with a sense of our common struggle—Peace and Prosperity. That’s what we all want! So, isn’t that what we should be working for? When we share our wealth, we promote peace and prosperity and win friends: Look at the Marshall Plan, or how we assisted Germany and Japan and transformed even enemies into allies. Nepal is another such example. For 40 or 50 years, American aid to Nepal far exceeded that of other donor nations (mainly because China had moved into Tibet) and as a result, Americans have become highly regarded there! For a school in Nepal to receive “American Aid” or to be visited by Americans is very prestigious, and certainly makes our job easier.

So, these times—they are achangin’! Or not? The new provisional government has been elected and installed. Their primary purpose is to write and approve a new constitution in two years. The Nepalis who are also ready for change gave a plurality of the seats to the Maoist party (but understand that they are closer to being socialists than hard core commies). Still, the Maoists need a majority, and the other 7 parties are reluctant to work with them. The result is that  stagnation has again set in! The Constitutional Assembly has not been selected; the unrest among the minorities in the South is still waiting to be addressed; the Nepali army and the Maoist army has yet to merge; and there has been terrible flooding along the Koshi River which wiped out thousands of homes and lives, as well as a 15 mile stretch of highway, thus isolating the SE corner of the country which will take years to diverted the river back to its old course repair and resettle.  Thanks to our webmaster Anita Elder, you visit our new website www.answer-nepal.org and click on the link to Pam’s World Adventure to see what Som now has to do to visit our schools there…it is unbelievable!

The Maoists are now trying to “nationalize” the private schools in order to have a more uniform educational system vis-à-vis the current two-tiered one. Some of you have even asked me how this will affect ANSWER. But again, all this is just talk, and I suspect it will be years, if ever, before this comes to pass. Our work continues.

Som Raj, our Director in Nepal, is presently visiting America for the first time to meet our Board here, so you can imagine how big his eyes are! With Som, we can better refine our operations. He will also present at our Annual Benefit on November 23rd.

As for our students almost all of them are doing well. Hopeful Home Orphanage of 40 children, many of whom we sponsor in school, has purchased a permanent home outside Katmandu. The children seem to be adjusting well, although they now have a 30 minute bus ride to school. We have received the help of a Canadian organization Learn For Life (Thank you Vanessa!) to help the older students transition out of the home when they graduate. So, their first graduates are living on their own and going to college.

To date, all of our high school graduates (approx 50) have graduated and gone on to college. We are very proud of our dozen nursing and health science students. Since we have covered almost the entire country accessible by roads, we are now backfilling, incorporating a few more schools along our routes and consolidating our gains. Our selection of poor but qualified students has improved so much that we can be all the more effective with the few who are having difficulties. So, all in all, our hard work has been blessed with good luck and good results. We give thanks to all of you for helping us make it this far.

Finally, we need to remind you to write your letters and have them to me by 1st of February, not Valentine’s Day which is when I will mail them out. I can not process 500 checks and your letters in time if most of you delay doing your letter-writing. So, please get you letters, photos, checks and form below to me early, NO LATER than February 1.

A few of you are still sending dollar bills to me for your child’s gift. We have discontinued this part of our program for a number of reasons.  The USPS now has a surcharge on all envelopes that are thicker than ¼ inch, so please enclose only your current photo with your letter and check in a regular 9×5 inch business-size (not manila size!) envelope. No Gifts or Cash, Please!

A new school year begins in April, so please examine the Invoice below to see what the costs are on your child. Most of you are paid up; a few of you are in arrears. If times are tough for you, pay what you can for now and we will get back to you. Do not feel that you cannot afford to help others…we are talking about $5 a week for most of you. And if you really can’t, do not be afraid to let us know. The worst thing you can do for yourself, for your student-child, and for us, is to do nothing.  As we cannot second guess your intentions, educational charges will just keep accruing. We have tailored ANSWER to be non-profit in the strictest sense in order to make this affordable to you. Hence we do not overcharge nor do we have any cushion to draw on. So,the buck stops at my front door —I end up having to pay all shortfalls, and I have no more to give! So, please, everyone! Please help by communicating with us. My contact numbers are unchanged and listed below.

Now don’t forget: Mail your letters with your photo and check (paybable to ANSWER) to me as soon as possible, but in no case later than February 1st.

Grateful for your continued support,
Earle Canfield
2363 Plymouth SE, Grand Rapids, MI 49506
616-516-0955, jecan314@aol.com

Politically this has been one of the most interesting, unpredictable of my many visits to Nepal. Last year there were the elections, and even though we didn’t know who would win, we knew that order would be restored. Nowadays we seemed to have had the orderly running of government with all of its problems and machinations, until the Prime Minister (Puspa Dahal, Maoist party) who has been stalemated by the opposition coalition, unexpectedly resigned in May. I think that he pretty much acted alone in this decision and did not seem to have the backing of the party, so I get the sense that this reflects leadership and personal integrity. I remarked to several Nepalis that when someone voluntarily gives up this much power, you have lost an honest man. No one wants to argue that point with me, but he is taking a big political risk. What’s more to the point, because the other parties were stonewalling every reform the Maoists would push, nothing was getting accomplished. Better to quit, and not be blamed for failing! So, after two to three weeks of a power vacuum, a new coalition of three major oppositional parties have gained the majority and have installed a new Prime Minister. His name, appropriately, is Mr. (Madhav) Nepal of the United Marxist-Leninist Party (don’t be fooled: Nepal is of the conservative upper-caste and the party is conservative, not liberal, and certainly not left-wing). The tables are now turned, and the Maoist party is beside itself, thwarting and protesting with parliamentary backbiting and maneuvering. Fortunately, it has all been pretty peaceful with lots of strikes and demonstrations here and there.

I mention all this because the former Prime Minister Puspa Dahal (the Maoist leader who is also known as Prachanda) was compromised by major problems: the delays in getting a new constitution written and approved, removing a conservative general who was blocking the unification of the Maoist People’s Liberation Army with the National Army, and the strikes and highway blockades along the Kings Highway. This last one was of immediate importance to KTM and much of the country because it meant fuel shortages and escalating prices as goods could not get to their markets. For us, the strikes and blockades kept us in KTM as we were unable to ply the highways to visit our schools beyond the KTM Valley.

So, as soon as PM Dahal announced his resignation, the highway blockades were rendered pointless and lifted. Som read this immediately, and so the very next morning saw all of us (Som and his bride Nisha, our co-director Bal, our volunteer from France Gaelle and I) at the airport at 7 AM catching a flight to Biratnagar in the southeast corner of Nepal. We have been doing this corner of Nepal for 6 years now and it went like clockwork: By 10 AM we had landed and our Tata jeep arrived with Kamal, our driver; by the early afternoon, we had visited two schools in as many cities; and as night was falling, we found ourselves doing two more schools in Dharan.  Unfortunately, it was so dark, that some of our photos didn’t turn out, and we later had to send Chanak back to reshoot a few of the children.

Dharan is one of the cleaner, more modern cities in Nepal because it was largely occupied by the British who used it as a training center for the British Gurkha Army. The Brits have now largely vacated and turned over their facilities to the Nepalis, including a huge, modern hospital, renamed the B. P. Khoirala Memorial Hospital. It is one of, if not “The” best medical training facility in Nepal. Here we had the help of our two nursing students, Saraswoti and Mamata, both of whom have outdistanced their classmates and are number one and two in their class (such that you can almost say “in the country”). For the last couple of years Saraswoti and Mamata have graciously, willingly, and even lovingly, helped the children with the reading and writing of letters whenever we visit.

Back on Track from Dharan

As I was saying, we now have this part of Nepal down pat, and we spent the night in Dharan—this time far enough away from the Central Bus Park so as not to be awakened by the unrelenting horn blasting of the buses which begins at 3AM! So, with a good night’s sleep, we were up early the next morning with just a cup of tea and began retracing our route south and then swinging eastward along the King’s Highway to the very SE corner of Nepal. This part of Nepal is about 100 miles from Darjeeling in India, and is Nepal’s “tea garden.” It is rich and verdant, and even children can find jobs in the tea fields. It takes a lot of picking for one person to survive, but whole families picking together can get by easily. Here there is a cash economy, and it is quite a sacrifice for some families to send their children to school.

This past year we have had several families suddenly up and move on us, but whether it is from fear, shame, or outright ignorance, they often do this without informing us. Nevertheless, we have been fairly successful in reestablishing the link as we have schools all over the country. The reasons for relocating are varied but all are related to the fact that these families are truly living on the edge and have to move in order to survive. One girl Rupom has eluded us, despite two years of searching, because creditors are after them; and if the relatives know anything they aren’t divulging anything even to us. They are probably hiding out in India as educating their child is the least of their worries. Her sponsors have been encouraging us to find Rupom, so we are not alone in bearing the disappointment.

Another family’s story reveals just how convoluted life becomes when eking out a living. The father of our student Smritii had left his job and family near KTM and moved back to his home village to take care of his own father. Meanwhile, he had paid out a fortune to a middleman and was fortunate to have landed a new job as a migrant worker in Dubai. Consequently, the mother and daughter, without notifying us, moved to this tea-growing corner of Nepal in order to begin caring for her aged father-in-law while his son went abroad. What made matters worse, the school where we had Smriti enrolled, had not informed us either, hoping to first extract another term’s payment from us—but that’s another story! Fortunately, Som was able to locate them, and enroll Smriti in a local school. Smriti is in the 3rd grade with a straight A average, so without ANSWER, a real opportunity for a deserving child would be lost! Although it takes a lot to track down our students, these instances are often win-win as it usually puts us in contact with new schools with new students. So, by the afternoon of Day Two, we had visited our four schools in as many cities, made our payments, met the children, collected their report cards distributed sponsor letters to them and had them write their response letters, and last but not least re-established Smriti in a new school.

Now, we had gone as far south and east in Nepal as we could go, so we turned around and retraced our steps, beginning our long, 500-mile journey westward across Nepal. We were making good time in Kamal’s Tata Jeep, when all of a sudden we came to our first blockade on the King’s Highway. The blockade was set up by local Maoists who were protesting the resignation of their Prime Minister (even though this was of his own choosing!). Getting around these stops were usually routine stuff for us, but this time we were at a loss. On a number of occasions I had posed as a doctor sent out to rescue a critically ill child in a remote village, but we knew that this time this wouldn’t fly as we were now heading in the wrong direction, back towards KTM rather than outward bound. So, we waited for about half an hour hoping the local authorities would do something. Finally, our driver Kamal pulled out a large book from the glove compartment, placed it on top of the dashboard, said something to Som, and then waved to the Maoists to come and talk. Gaelle (our volunteer from France) and I were to get out our foreign passports. Kamal told the Maoists that we were Human Rights investigators, and we needed passage to do our monitoring. He then pulled out and an old ID card which showed him to be under the employment of a Norwegian Human Rights Agency! They disputed that until he pointed to the thick text in Nepali about Human Rights and then they backed off…they couldn’t read the English card, but the Nepali book title was comprehendible to them and confirmed what Kamal was telling them. They then backed away from the car when they suddenly pulled out their automatic weapons and blasted us. The car was riddled with bullet holes. We were covered in blood. Bal was breathing his last…….and I, and I….

No, no, no. That was just dramatic license! The local Maoists had backed away, smiled, and waved us through. As soon as we were out of sight, we whooped it up, patted Kamal on the back, and promised him a big tip! So, if any of you are thinking I am brave and courageous, or really dumb and stupid, I can only say it is more the latter and definitely not the former. I am no Greg Mortensen (of Three Cups of Tea) who as a mountain climber is used to living on the edge. He works in Pakistan despite the fatiwahs issued against his life, an abduction by Waziristanis, and being caught up in violent drug wars. (Thankfully, his wife has finally made him stop taking so many risks!) Nepal is not Pakistan. In Nepal I am protected by a US passport (which could serve as a death warrant in places in Pakistan), and I have inherited a lot of the goodwill generated by US Aid and several generations of Peace Corps Volunteers. In addition, I am lucky and blessed with a very knowledgeable, dedicated staff who are well aware of the risks. The truth be told, it is my staff that is most at risk… year after year, they have been able to visit every school and child despite the possibility of being beaten up by these vigilantes, extortion, or worse, if caught in an “act of defiance” such as running a blockade.

On to Lahan and the Bates’ Motel

Still on our second day the sun was racing for the western horizon, as we approached the Koshi River, right on the Nepali-Indian border. As many of you read in your children’s letters, this was the site of mass flooding during last year’s monsoon. The flooding was a result of silting behind the dam which actually caused the river to change course—taking out villages, roads and bridges. I think something like 20,000 Nepalis lost their homes and most are still living in camps waiting for some kind of compensation from the government. As we crossed the flood zone, we could see a huge expanse of sand which had buried their once fertile fields.

The sand is so deep, I doubt if this will ever be arable land again. We drove through miles of what seemed like desert and all around were Indian and Nepali construction crews trying to reestablish levees and rebuild roads before the coming monsoon in a month and a half.

Finally the road ended, buried by a huge sand dune. But in its place, was a plowed track in the sand over which everyone had to pass for a couple of miles in order to meet up with the road on the other side. It wasn’t long before we came up to a huge truck tilting to one side with a broken axle. As cars slowed to go around, a little minivan, aka “clown car” carrying a dozen people and a ton of luggage on the roof-rack, tried to go around the truck. It had hit a soft spot in the sand, and dug its own grave. Dozens of people gathered around the minivan, but only succeeded in pushing it deeper into its burrow. After about an hour a giant landmover with a cable managed onto the scene and towed it out, and then re-blazed a new track for all of us.    People all gathered around to gawk at arm’s length, and I was sure that something would snap and the cable would thrash about like an angry cobra wiping out dozens of people on every side. Luckily and happily, it didn’t happen, but stupid stuff like that happens all the time here because of people’s curiosity and innocence gets the better of them—like the time during the Maoist war, a bomb squad was called in to disarm a bomb left on a bridge. Of course the bomb squad attracted a lot of attention, and rubberneckers gathered all around the bomb to see them at work…when it was accidentally detonated by the bomb squad. There was no damage to the bridge, but there were plenty of casualties from a bomb that was intended only to get people’s attention. Yes, innocence, like a little knowledge, can be a dangerous thing.

Well, the Maoists and the Dunes had managed to slow us down so that we didn’t get to our hotel in Lahan until well into the night. Tired and hungry, I was in no mood to discover that our hotel which had a thick menu full of great delights, including pizza, could only offer us more rice and lentils! I am not a culinary chauvinist, but the ubiquitous rice and lentils was no reason for my breaking a short fast. I was now in a foul mood because I hate this hotel anyway and deride as the “Bates’ Motel” (recall they movie Psycho and the shower scene).  Last year I was almost electrocuted in the shower when the ill-fitting showerhead let loose with a spray that went all over everywhere, including the hot light bulb over the sink, shattering glass everywhere. I went ballistic not just because my life was at risk, but also because if it happened to me, it had obviously happened a dozen times before to others, and all they could do to fix the problem is to repeatedly replace the bulb, vis-à-vis repair the showerhead. Most Nepalis, and even Som, cannot understand why I should be upset when a mere bulb blows leaving me in the dark with broken glass and water underfoot with the spray now striking the live socket. But that’s Nepal—innocence!

Last year one of our principals was electrocuted when he was hosing down the dirt and grime around some new classrooms that were being constructed on his campus. No one had bothered to disconnect the 30,000 Volt line that was feeding the unit, and it was lying “live” on the ground! As soon as the line and the stream met, he was knocked unconscious, but managed to survive. Fortunately, he was near an airport and immediately med-evacked to KTM by air and treated. It took months of hospitalization and rehab to bring him back with “just” severe burn scars running from his hand, up his arm, down his torso and legs where the water and current passed through and over his body. This principal is one of the brightest and most progressive that Som and I have met, and we are relieved that he survived as well as he did. This happens all the time: I read about another electrocution like this of a 9th grade student at school in newspaper, but he succumbed, and then there was another such case just a few days later.

Accidents don’t just happen; they are all set-ups due to thoughtlessness. For example, I don’t know how a family of four can all mount a single motorcycle, wedge a child between the mother and father on the back seat, perch the baby between the handle bars, and then all of them watch sublimely as the father puts on one and only  helmet which must serve protect them all from head injuries! There are seat belt laws and seat belts in the cars, but no one wears them. When I buckle up in a cab, half the time the belt has never been used, and I have a dirt smudge running diagonally across my chest simply from the dust in the air that accumulates on it from hanging idly behind the front window. It’s exasperating!

So, here we were a year later, checked into “the Bates’” tired, hungry, pizza-lessly disappointed, and perfectly set up for yet another night of misery that would have Som and Bal sharing hilarity in years to come.  Gaelle and I were sharing a room on the second floor facing the busy highway. The shower was the same dangerous set up: the shower head was situated over a light fixture, but this time the plumbing was tight. Partially refreshed, I emerged from the shower and found Gaelle looking out the window at a wedding reception happening across the street with a large brass section blowing their lungs out. To those attuned, they were recognizable as popular Hindi songs; to the Western ear, the tunes more closely resembled unadulterated cacophony. It was now after 10:00 pm and we were beat, but neither the heat nor the brass band was letting up. The temperature outside had cooled down to 85-90 degrees. However, if we closed the window to shut out the noise, the inside temperature would soon climb another 20 degrees, even with the fan on full-throttle. All through the night, the temperature and the gala went on unrelentingly, and either Gaelle or I would get up and open or close the window when the noise or the heat became more intolerable than the other! It was a dreadful night, and I wondered how it must have been for the newlywed couple! Som, Bal, and Kamal were on the far side of the hotel and had a blissful night. Even so, early the next morning I found myself in much better spirits appreciating the early morning peace and quiet and knowing that we were heading out of town, leaving this rat-hole motel in the dust and din.

The Kapri Clan

And so began another day, and then another day, for the next two weeks: 14 hours per day of driving and visiting schools. Exhausted, some of us would doze off as our heads would bob up and down, bouncing in and out of consciousness. There was always something unexpected beyond the bend that would greet us. We did meet up with two more blockades on the highway, but diverted around one and lied our way through the other. At one town on the highway, with a ridiculous, long name Chandranigahapur, which even Som and Bal shorten to “Chapur,” we put up for the night in another roadside hotel. This time there was no dining room, so we found a “greasy spoon” (an inappropriate designation as elegant dining in Nepal requires no utensils). On these trips, as I mentioned, I find it really easy to diet and could easily get by on less than a single meal per day. Scales are few and far between, but I was reminded that my attempts were having results as every other week I would cinch up my belt another notch. I once read that a loss of one inch of girth around the waist represents 5 pounds of weight loss. It proved to be pretty close: at the end of my stay I had indeed lost 25 pounds in ten weeks. This makes me look like I have great will power, but if this were so, I wouldn’t keep gaining back the weight each year, would I? When I return home, it’s a real challenge not to binge out on Rocky Road ice cream.

Any way during dinner, Som revealed that he would like to drop in on three new students in Chapur and see how they are doing before it got too late. Som had offered for us to pay for the schooling of these “special” boys…if the families would cover their room and board. This school was a real, urban, private English-speaking school, about 20 miles from their village, and if these boys could make it here then they could go all the way, with college and a career, too.

What made these boys “special” was their handicap: they were ethnically Madeshi.
Many regard the Madeshi as backward and anti-education, but I now know that this impression derives simply from their lack of familiarity with and understanding of what education entails. These three boys were of the Kapri Clan (their caste) who had lived in the tents along the Manohara river (read this as flood plain and garbage dump) in KTM some years back when we first encountered them. The boys are now 13-15 years old, and in the third grade, and to be honest I could only recognize one of them as they were all twice as tall since I last saw them. We had started educating some of the children 5-6 years ago in the “bamboo school/clinic” we built among their tents on the mudflats. The next year we mainstreamed them into a nearby government school in KTM. They were wild, undisciplined, and would even cuss out the teachers in their native tongue, which fortunately, was totally unintelligible to the teachers. But they loved their uniforms, and I now understand better that school gave them something to do when their moms left them behind and went out with their younger sibs to beg. The past few years many of the Kapri families stopped migrating to KTM because the children were too old to use as begging bait for tourists,  and so they stayed in their home village “down on the farm” near the Indian Border.

Finally, last year we decided we would stop by their home village and verify rumors that the boys were still going to school.  When we arrived, we were amazed to find that almost all of the boys we had started in schools were still going to school, including a few who were actually attending a local private school and learning English! Even better: the parents were footing the entire bill, uniforms and all! We were so pleased that we struck a deal with this private school to offer free tutorials to any of the Kapri boys. This had the immediate impact of consolidating all of the Kapri boys into the superior school and even elicited a few more enrollees. “Something for nothing, even though we don’t need it” is more than some can resist.

Som grew up in the Terai, and he had many Madeshi friends and knew their language and ways. I would have never have dreamt that Som’s “experiment” of enrolling Madeshi teenagers in a real private school would really have a snowball’s chance in the Terai, but these three boys took the bait and so did their parents. Moreover, Som had worked out a deal with the principal of the school to give them tuition waivers (so we didn’t actually have to pay anything!) if we chose some of his needy scholars as our candidates: this was a win-win-win scenario. We were now visiting at the beginning of the school year and the boys had set up house and were already attending classes….So, after dinner Som phoned up the principal, who met us at a street corner, and took us to the humble apartment of the three boys. It was 8-9 pm, pitch dark, and their room was very near the school. When the boys opened the door, they were blown away to find Som, and the unlikely return of the pale-skinned god!

We stepped into their small, single room. I couldn’t believe that more than a single person could live in this space, but Som seemed to have expected as much…or as little; and with six of us now crammed in it, we only had room to stand. The windows were all open as it is still very warm, and they had been cooking, and there were all kinds of night life flying around their light…I was tired, but stifled my yawns for inhaling and choking on the bugs. There was a single bed in which all three boys snuggled together, and a kerosene stove with dinner still warm in the pot. They told us about their classes and their determination in their language (Maithali), Nepali, and even simple English. I congratulated them for being so persistent in their studies, and there was no doubt that our visit was as good a motivational kick in the pants as we could give. I reminded them that this was truly their big moment to prove to everyone that they could make something of themselves, and if they did well, we would help them go all the way…even college! They were so serious…not the sassy little smart asses I once knew. When out of ear shot, I asked Som if he thought that they can really do it. Som didn’t even smile, but wisely said, “We’ll see.” Generations of tenant farming has made them into determined survivalists. The Kapris keep on amazing me. If only one made it, they would have their next leader!

The next day Som and I drove the twenty miles south, just north of the Indian border and visited their village. We were warmly greeted and embraced by the elders, who seemed as glad to see us as we were to see them. We visited the local private school where all the boys were attending, and were surprised to find that the tin roof had been totally blown off along with some of the interior walls blown over from a recent wind storm! Sadly but undaunted, they erected matted screens between classes, and everyone was studying al fresco within the confines and ruins of the school.

Of course, they hoped we would help, but we only offered to extend the afterschool tutorials from 12 to 18 children, and included other Madeshi clans in the village. This would befriend us to those clans who felt we excluded them last year when our offer was extended only to the Kapris. It would also put pressure on the Kapris that if more of them didn’t take advantage of our offer, other Madeshi would do so! At first I felt we should do more, but Som handled all of this. To help a private school increase its earnings is a much better way to rebuild a school than to pay for a new roof…its empowering! Som reminded me that these are private “for profit” schools, and if we helped in other ways they would be after us to rescue them for any number of calamities in the future, real or contrived. I was immediately reminded of how our government rescued Chrysler in the 70s only to have GM come back to us in their corporate jets for a bailout in 2008.

As we tooled down Route 66, east to west, we are always on the lookout for possible schools we could recruit more students. When we stopped for lunch, Som would typically ask the restaurant owner about the local schools. Sometimes things panned out, sometimes we were chasing our tail, but always it was an adventure…and nothing ‘ventured, nothing gained. When we finally reached the Far West, we decided that this year we would explore the Western Border and headed north 3-4 hours to Dadeldhura. Sure enough, we did find a fairly good school and selected some candidate children there. We then inquired about other private schools might be in the next town. We heard high commendations about a school in Dipalaya, another 2.5 hours drive, so after catching an early lunch, we made a dash for it. The school we found was being supported by the South Koreans, and they had scholarships for all the good students and were handing us report cards of children who were simply poor. They only wanted additional funds, not necessarily to help their students. We politely said that they have a good thing going and that we felt that our program would be in competition with the Koreans, and we didn’t want to jeopardize their funding source.  We then quickly jumped in the car and drove non-stop all the way back to Dadeldura and then to the Kings highway. That day we drove for 12 hours only to visit 2 schools and one was a no go. Still, we had reached the outer limits!

Next year we would return to Dadeldhura and drive further north to the end of the road in that direction, the town of Baitadi. We have essentially covered all the navigable roads in Nepal. The remaining areas can only be accessed by airplanes setting down in cow pastures, and it is doubtful if any of them have schools of a caliber that we can use. Viewed from the other direction, children from all across Nepal will be tomorrow’s leaders.