Photos From Buddhist Child Home Orphanage

Following are photos from my recent trip to Kathmandu and Buddhist Child Home orphanage. One art project we did was making cards with handprints and having the children write a little about themselves on the cards. I will pass these cards along to those interested in supporting the children.


We also took the kids on a field trip. Here we are enjoying our "picnic" lunch-30 orders of vegetable chowmein!

Danny is a popular guest at the orphanage and seen as a big brother to all the kids, who call him "Danny Sir" in respect. He has worked on and off at the orphanage for the past 3 years.
One of the four older kids we are trying to raise money for boarding school. She wants to be a nurse someday and "help the poor people of Nepal."
Here I am on our "field trip" to a famous shrine outside Kathmandu, with two of the older girls who have grown up at the orphanage. They are both very mature, polite and intelligent young ladies who help care for their 50 younger brothers and sisters at Buddhist Child Home. They both have dreams of being a teacher and a nurse, "to help the people of Nepal."

Leaving India -taxis, bus, plane-bhanda! (strike!)

Kelsang Lodue, my Tibten son, and I, packed up our bags and hired a young Indian lad to shoulder the biggest suitcase up the stone steps (110 of them) to Jogibara Rd. in McLeo. He was delighted to get the 50 rubees I offered and Kelsang equally delighted to not have to do it. We then rolled our luggage through McLeo's one land narrow road that weaves through vegetable stalls, Tibetans selling their wares, shoulder-wide shops, cows, pictures of the Dalai Lama, Free Tibet signs, the occasional monkey sitting-people watching, and the tourists. Taxis and jeeps carrying towers of goods stacked on their roofs also squeeze through this masala of humanity. At the bus stop just outside town, we found our "City Land" bus I had paid top dollar for in order to get reclining seats-our trip to Delhi would take about 12 hours and mostly during the night-to sleep the whole way would be bliss-I had planned to go straight from where the bus stops at the Tibetan Settlement in Delhi known as Manju Teela to the airport and then get on my flight and zip to the modern world. Could it really be that easy?
The conductor-those wiry young men who work on every Indian bus, taking fares, making announcements and loading gear, tried to charge us 20 rubees for our bags, but Kelsang had placed them in the boot of the bus himself, so it didn't seem justified. We Indian-screamed yelled, which is really quite an art that I've watched Kelsang do many times when we are over-charged, so I decided to give it a try. "You think I"m stupid because I'm white? You think you can cheat us like that?" I yelled in my best Kali voice, throwing in some sideways head waggling. He looked pretty pleased with my retort and lowered his fee to 10 rupees!
The driver saddled up and passengers loaded-there is the usual confusion of who sits where and finally everything is sorted out, all with good vibes. a gaggle of monks had come with their monk pal to see him off and shouted and clapped as the bus pulled out and he waved from the window opposite us. The driver negogiated some tight hair-pin turns as we left this hilltop station, (as he lit his first of many cigerettes, also typical for Indian bus drivers-chain-smoking while driving), acrid smoke filled his cabin. A glass partition divides his space, large enough to hold several other men and a bed, but we can see through it from our seats to the windshield and view in front of us. Often the conductor will lite the cigarette and pass it to driver, and take a few hits himself. I could only hope it was legitimate pan they were smoking as the roads are trecherous and steep and sheer drop-offs in this part of India, at least until we descended in the Kangra Valley below.
Forget reading a book or sleep until out of the hills. Taking turns on two wheels despite the size of our "tourist" bus was no problem for the Indie-car-racer driver, smoking and playing his Hindi music full volumne. Just sit and use mindful meditation-I told myself enjoying the always amazing sights-the mountains full of pine forests, and beyond them, huge towering rock peaks of the first range of Himalayas that make this part of India seem so like your are in Tibet. In fact, during this trip I saw many bags and signs printed with "New Lhasa". There was an ancient red fort on a hilltop, shrine after shrine with gaudy Hindu statues and adornments, bullock carts--but over and over I rehearsed what I would do if we crashed-sorry to say, such a ride makes you take full measure of your surroundings and how best to exit the vehicle when and if it tips over. I focused from time to time on the Shiva statues on the dashboard by the driver, and Shiva's blue serene face, the cobra around the neck, Ganges river pouring from his head, a crecent moon beside his dreads. Was Shiva real? Could he be called upon if we plummet down this gorge we are teetering by-wait! There's Shiva now! At the bottom of the gorge was a wonderful statue of Shiva and his wife Parvati, on a large boulder! It is true!
As darkness fell, the driver made his one stop for dinner break and Kelsang and I ate a plate of cheese stuffed chapatis and "Aloo" with spices. I bravely made my way to the back toilets, following the reek of urine, to a small tin room about 3 ft. by 3 ft. with a squat pit. Many men stood outside in the fresh air relieving themselves immodestly, staring at me with great curiosity.There were some of the largest insects crawling around in the toilet I had ever seen, some beautifully green, others about 3-4" long with hard shells. What a great place to study entomology!
ON and on we drove in the hazy, dusty, muggy night. The bus jerked and swayed and I tried to doze but could not. Around 2 am, the driver mysteriously took a sharp turn off the highway and began to drive down a small lane into rice paddies. This is interesting, I thought and looked back at the other passengers to see if any were as surprised as I was-no one seemed to take notice. Most dozed and some were car sick. The road became a country lane and then dirt, our large bus lumbered along, struggling to stay on the small road and not fall off into the rice paddies. The dirt road was full of ruts and the bus lurched and jottled over them, where the heck was this driver going?? We passed through several small farms, scattering sleeping dogs left and right. This did not seem right-and I began to fear we were being taken hostage by the crazy chain-smoking driver, or involved in some drug pick up. The monk across the aisle from me dozed in peace. OK, if we were forced to get off this bus in a field, I'm sticking to him, I thought. Suddenly 3 soliders appeared from the fields with large rifles slung across their backs-Marxist? No they had turbans, must be Shikhs. They had uniforms and looked impossing in the dark, their tall backs straight with authority. their blue turbans giving them added height. Yelling at the driver to stop, he jumped down and was interrogated in typical authoritative Indian scream technique. The driver argued back-much hand-gesticulating. I turned to Kelsang to interpret, but he, miraculously, slept soundly. The soliders pointed this way and that, back to the way we had come and back to another road. The driver got in and we were off again, and soon on the highway. Later, i overheard an english speaking passenger say there was something about avoiding toll fees and truckers often take back roads to get around toll booths.
We got into Manju Teela at dawn, in the rain. It was a welcome wetting, as our backs were soaked in sweat from the bus ride and our heads foggy with lack of sleep. Gathering my stored bags, which I had kept at the Shambhala Guest House for a few rubees, Kelsang and I located a spicket and did a "squat wash" underneath, letting the fresh water rinse the dust from our faces and arms. We said our emotional goodbyes after a cup of butter tea at a Tibetan tea shop, and promised to meet again next year. He still had a hot and long two day bus ride back to Kathmandu and many worries about making it back across the border into Nepal. When you only have a Dalai Lama passport and no official papers really recognized by any gov't, crossing any border is a worry. I emptied my pocket of quite a few rubees,saving only enough for a taxi to the airport, and gave them to him with a hug and the best of luck-and many many Tashi Deleks.He pulled out of his pocket the traditional long white kata scarf that every Tibetan keeps hidden for such occassions. Around my neck it went with many, many Tashi Deleks, the Tibetan "best wishes" puja saying.
I had a Visa card, a passport and all my luggage, a Tibetan kata around my neck, and the USA to go home too-suddenly I felt blessed beyond measure. The taxi wove in and out of Delhi's insane traffic and delivered me to the gate at Indira Ghandi airport. But when I tried to get into the airport proper, the Sikh guard looked at my papers to inform me I was a whole day early! WHAT??!! I grabbed the papers back to stare in disbelieve-how could this have happened?? I had somehow gotten in my head that July 5 was Sun. and had not seen a calendar I could read in about a month. It was actually the 4th of July. The reality sank in-I was stuck in Delhi for another day and had to find a decent room in a strange city and something to do until the next day!
Somehow my good luck prevailed and I found a nice, clean guest house close to the airport and added bonus of being next door to the 5 star Radisson, where I could walk and hang out in their 5 star lounge. I hired a taxi to take me to the Delli Hatt-an outdoor shopping market full of interesting local vendors and craftsmen. AFterwards I roamed the beautiful Radisson grounds and read the paper to discover-oh my god-there was to be a nationwide strike, a bhand-or in Nepal, Bhanda, of the entire country! Oh well, this has happened to me and Danny before, once in Spain we landed just as a bhanda began and there is little you can do about it as a traveller but, once again, go with the flow.
This morning I awoke in my little room to hear the news-Calcutta was shut down and Mumbai, but delhi so far still up and running. Leftists, they were saying, were imposing strict measures on anyone breaking the strike, and taxi drivers still doing business were asking twice their normal rates to make up for the danger. I am finishing this blog now and off to airport extra early while I can still get a taxi. Maybe another day in Delhi? It will not be so bad, I really do love chaotic and bazaar India. Home and all it's orderly-ness will be soon enough-I have really learned the art of patience on this trip, from waiting to find taxis in Dhading to jeep breakdowns in Dharka to off-road bus drivers in India to long walks up and down ancient stone steps that don't seem to end. what a wonderful part of the world to learn about life and what it is all about. I hope for all of you reading this you find your bliss, right where you are and a bit of patience and tolerance in all you do! Lots of love, namastes, tashi deleks-tu de che's-Danny-take care my love where-ever you are in the world right now! Jan, HANDS in Nepal field inspector, is OUT! Shanti Om Shanti!

A Day In The Life of a Monk

Rising at dawn to shower and decide which of my three outfits to put on for the day, I was excited-not only had the clouds of Mcleod ganj lifted revealing the pure blue of the Himalaya sky here, but I was on my way to have breakfast with one of mine and Danny's favorite monks-Gendun Lodue, of the Dalai Lama Temple. We met Gendun last year when he approached me for English lessons and have kept a steady correspondance since. He is a very intelligent, academic and likeable monk who is working on his "geshe" (equivalent to a doctorate's in Buddhist philosophy)degree, which he hopes to finish in about 3 years. His stack of books on complex Buddhist studies tower above his simple bed of a blanket and his propane stove. Life is simple in the Dalai Lama complex of temples and dorm rooms for the hundreds of monks who are lucky enough to have been selected to study here, but it is not easy.
I asked Gendun, as we breakfasted on the omellete he made of eggs and salt, Tibetan pali bread on the side and a mug of hot milk butter tea, what his daily schedule is like. "Ohhh-he laughed, in his customary good humor-Gendun is always laughing and making small jokes out of English words. "We rise at 5:45 a/m/ and go up to the main temple for prayers. Then we take tea in the dining hall and have a little breakfast, then we do a little puja and meditation." He paused to sip his butter tea and pour more into my mug from a large vacuum thermos that is always present in his room. And then? "Then we do some book learning, from 8:30-9:30. Then at 9:30, attend Buddhist studies class. At 11:00 I have my course of 3 years (this involved a little more explaining) this course is in "Illuminating Thought: The commentary of Madhyamakavtar." He pulled a very thick book from the stack to show me. "This one." I looked at the pages filled with Tibetan script. Oh.
Next, from 11:00-12:00, I work on debate questions." If anyone has not had the pleasure of watching Buddhist monks debate, please go now to You Tube and type in : "Monk debates Mcloud ganj" you will be most surprised at the aggressiveness and vigor which these usually calm monks tackle their positions in debating on all things Buddhist!Sometimes things get quite physical, and last night as I watched from the temple stairs, one monk grabbed another and twirled him around and around in a heated arguement! Sometimes malas are grabbed and always hands smack to make a point. It is quite an unusual break from their chants and meditations.
Next, there is lunch from 12-1:00. Then from 1-2:00 is the first free time of the day. At 2:00 English class. I found this interesting, apparently the Dalai Lama feels strongly that his monks all understand and have a command of the English language.
Then, from 3:15-4:00 is a Tibetan class. From 4:00 is a cultural class. At 5:00 there is dinner. From 6:15 to 7:15, second round of prayers in the main temple. From 7:15 is debating at the main temple, in small groups according to level of study. From (;00-10:00, writing. Bedtime is at 10:15.
Not a lot of time to get into trouble, I joked with Gendun. "Trouble? What this mean," he said innocently, the translation and joke lost on him. YOu know, I said, thinking of what another monk told me the other day when we talked about how best to help Tibetan youths in the refugee Center-"An idle mind is the devil's workshop." Ohh! Gendun laughed, rocking back and forth on the floor. did I tell you we sit on the floor on scarps of Tibetan carpet, no furniture in a monk's "cell." I htought again how funny our two cultures are: In American, the saying is: "Idle hands are the devil's workshop" Here, it is again, a more spiritual path. Control your mind and learn to take the reins, do not let the monkey grab it and run to all kinds of imaginary places of suffering! Gendun is such a great role-model, he also walked from Tibet and I have never been around a more poor, or more happier person. I feel so blessed to be his teacher, if only for a week this time, next time hopefully longer.
WE bowed to each other as I left, my last day with him. He brought out a kata scarf from the folds of his robes and placed it around my neck. The white honorary scarf hung almost to the floor and I fought back tears. I have had to say goodbye so much this trip-to Danny in Kathmandu and treasured friends met along the way and now my favorte monk. "Tashi Delek Gay-la" i said to him bowing (Gay-la= dear monk). Tashi Delek Ama la, he said back sweetly smiling-See you next year!

Save Tibet-Free Tibet-Do something for Tibet!

As I sat with two Tibetan refugees in today's English conversation class, I asked each the one question I ask all my Tibetan students: How did you get from Tibet to Dharamsala, India? 100% of the answers are, "I walked." the answer is softly spoken and usually with great a great deal of humility. Often I realize it is a painful question to ask, but as I explain to them the fact that they have the courage to walk across the Himalayas and reach freedom here in India is a feat not many in the Western World understand. And part of this plight, of Tibetans trying despartly to save their culture, their race, their way of life, is undertaken first by making that great step towards the West and their freedom. Some lose their lives, many I've talked to saw people die in their group. They understand the risk they are taking in crossing mountains so great and icy in places, that one slip and "swoosh! You go down!" as one Tibetan said to me, as he watched in horror as his friend fell to his death. Chinese soliders are on patrol too, surveying the routes, so Tibetans have to do most their travels at night. On mountain sides, in the Himalayas. IT is such extreme weather, that most experience some degree of frost-bite. There are many photos in the Tibet Museum here showing the drastic conditions most refugees experience when they finally make it to their beloved Dalai Lama here in Dharamsala. Photos of blackened appendages, fingers, toes and entire feet, that have to be amputated, and many of this on small children. It is becoming common for young people to be sent on the dangerous journey to freedom with friends or relatives going, as older parents know they can never survive the trip. These parentless children are also welcomed into the refugee family here, given medicine, food and care until they can placed in homes or cared for at the Tibet Children's Village, run by the sister of His Holiness the 14th Dalai Lama. One monk I worked with told me his story in a voice filled with emotionally pain at the memories, just a few years ago. He was very happy at his monastery in Tibet, until the Chinese came one day and ordered all the monks there to write degrading things about the Dalai Lama. They ordered the monks to write things like "The Dalai Lama is a liar, he deceives his people, he is filled with hatred, he is a "wolf in monk's clothes." I think it would be easier for monks to rip their own hearts out of their bodies with their own hands then do such a thing, they are beyond devoted to the Dalai Lama and have such faith in his course of compassion,non-violence and peace in the solution for Tibet and China. So they refused. 3 times the Chinese officials came to demand they write and sign such papers, denouncing any loyalty to His Holiness. Each time they refused. Then one day they came back with soliders and threatened the monastery and the monks. They realized then they would have to flee Tibet to have any freedom from this type of persecution.
They helped each other walk out, in the cover of darkness, knowing they had only one hope-to reach Dharamsala and their leader, the Dalai Lama. They finally made it, after fasting for days, eating grass, hungry, tired and emotionally spent at having to leave family behind and go to a new land who's ways and language they did not know. The Dalai Lama meets with every refugee that comes in Dharamsala, and my monk friend said he met with him and his group. "What did he say? What did you say?" I asked him-"I could not talk-I just start crying," he said, smiling sweetly at me, knowing I would understand the flood of emotions that wash over anyone meeting His Holiness, but especially a devoted monk who spent the last two weeks in extreme suffering to reach his leader. "He placed his hands on my shoulder and asked me what the Chinese were doing now in Tibet, and I try to tell him, but all I can do is cry. He told me everything was going to be okay now."
It was all I could do to not cry hearing the sincerity of his words. When you are here, in "Dalai Lama land" the true meaning of what the Tibetan people are going through really hits hard, at the heart level. They are rebuilding Lhasa one temple and one store at a time, their culture is rising up in a new land, but they long for their homeland. Tibet was a place of their nomad tradition, their generations of family, their ancient Buddhist religion. It will always be home.
I sat at Tibet Hope Project, tutoring a young Tibetan "youth" of about 20 yrs., wearing very modern "western" clothes, right down to bluejeans and a cap slanted "hip-hop" style on his slick black hair. He looked all the world like a young "gangsta" from USA, and rocked back in his chair, body posture very hip and cool. But when I asked him my mandatory question, he leaned forward and suddenly looked all the world Tibetan to me. "I just came here 18 months ago," he softly said, and I saw such sadness in his dark eyes.
The Chinese are now reforming curriculum so everything is in Chinese, writing, reading and speaking. There is no Tibetan allowed. One village protested by keeping their children home-but the Chinese showed up with soliders and ordered the children to go to school and learn the Chinese ways. "I am here now," he said, "my parents are in Tibet. I walked with friends. It was very difficult, very cold, very dangerous and slippery. We have to hide from Chinese, we never have enough food to eat." And now? "I stay at the home for Tibet Refugees. I want to study English and work with computers." His dream is of college in computer technology in Delhi. right now, the Dalai Lama offices pay for education through Dharamsala, up to high school level. College-only if he can get some sponsor to fund it.
Other Tibetans also have the dream of a vocation and a career in their new homeland-India. Of course most would love to come to the dreamland-America. Right now, D\my son Danny and I are brainstorming ways we can help the Tibetan "youth" here-they are usually without a family, without a direction of how to proceed into their bright futures. There is a worry with older Tibetans that they will lose their Tibetan culture along the way.
One thing for sure-English can be a great starting point for all of them and they crave it, ask for it, are so grateful for any English tutoring you can give. Anyone interested in coming here to tutor and not sure how, please contact me! I can give you all the details and your help here is limitless in the inspiration and guidance you can give to the Tibetans as they arrive, daily, from Tibet. The fact that foreigners are here to help them and give them any tutoring at all is received with so much gratitude and thankfulness that you will be humbled beyond belief at their kindness in accepting yours. It is as the Dalai Lama says, "never give up hope!- Helping Tibet is not just about helping Tibetans, it's about helping our planet and humanity develop in a positive way as we learn how interdependent we all are."
If China succeeds in eliminating the Tibetan people and their culture, what does that say about the rest of us? It is a though I ponder a lot here in the land of the Dalai Lama. I prefer to think as His Holiness does, mankind is intrinsically good, and China will reform their ways and let Tibet be Tibet and Tibetans free to be who they are and always will be. And we can help-you can help! You can-just ask me!

36 Hours!!! Part 3

Oops! I'm sorry-at the end of last blog, I mentioned "sanchey panni"-and my good son, both Tibetan and American sons-keep correcting me: it's "Chesso Panni"-anyways, we finally cleared the border patrols, both sides and quickly kicked the old bus into top gear-India hit us with heat and humanity like no other country can. Cows, carts, exploding music-melee-it is an ordered chaos that mysteriously works. I had several books to read, but it was hard to keep my eyes off the amazing parade of unexpected scenes passing by. The heat and humidity rose in our tin can on wheels, and we all dozed off and on, occasionally the driver would pull over, on the "highway" for a toilet break, men staggered off to whiz right alongside the bus, but where were the women to go? Definately something for Indian women to create a movement about and maybe the next HANDS in Nepal project. Once, there was a stop by a field overgrown with weeds, and a few women holding their saris up around their knees, wandered way back of the field so I followed suit and joined them in trying our best to squat in a country known for cobras in fields.
We travelled all that day and into the night. The driver pulled over late, about 10 pm at a truck joint that looked like it was holding either a Xmas party or a disco night,so strewn with colored lights and sparkling adornments! We ate chowmein and talked to our new Tibetan friend about American myths: such as "is it true Americans kiss dogs? And sleep with their animals? Are Americans really really fat? Does every American own a car?" I think all the "myths" they asked were not myths at all and true, but I then ponited out some cultural things most Americans find hard to believe: is it true cows roam free here? Is it true you cannot marry out of caste? Is it true Tibetans really do walk over the Himalayas for weeks to escape Chinese oppression? All true.
The next morning I was giddy with relief and self-congratulations that we were about to pull into Delhi and the trip was soon over-well, the first leg of it. Delhi is huge-you come into it with slums, and industrial mish-mash of factories, and more and more traffic. Suddenly we were on a freeway overpass that seemed way too modern for our bus, and the shock of the modern world hit me with little warning. The bus trip ends at the Tibetan Colony in Delhi known as Manju Teela, and here is where we stepped into the wall of humid heat that knocks your sandals off. The usual taxi driver greeting met us, but I didn't have to worry with my two Tibetan friends to lead me across the busy street into the gates of Tibet Village and straigt to a Tibetan Guest House. The three of us got a room for the day, to shower, wash clothes and rest.
We were so shocked to open our luggace and find everything soggy and wet inside! Our bags had been under a tarp on top of the bus, so I was really surprised things got so wet. We had to wash out everthing becaue it smelled of mold and an entire suitcase of books I had brought for Tibet Hope Project had to be unpacked and spread about the room to dry. All the business cards I had printed in kathmandu for HANDS had to be peeled apart and spread everywhere to try and save them,(all 250 of them) and every article of goods, like yak hair blankets and hand bags, had to be hung to dry. The whole room looked like a camp of gypsies had set up shop in there, and we laughed despite our fallen spirits that our things were near ruin.
Tsering the girl knew a good Tibten tea house so we left our things to dry and went off to have some good butter tea and Tibetan bread and jam. Refreshed and so happy to be off the bus, we said our goodbyes to Tsering the girl, who left for her bus to south India and Tsering the guy and I bought tickets for that evening's bus to Mcloud Ganj, our final resting place. All too soon it was time to pack up our now dried goods and somewhat dry clothes, and head to a group of tourist buses with monks and Tibetans boarding.This bus was quite a bit more modern and nicer then the Nepali bus and we sunk into the plush seats thankfully. We slept most of that leg of the trip, completely exhausted by doing nothing but bus riding in heat, and by this morning, we were treated to the splendid sights of forests, villages in tea valleys and off in the distance, the Himalayas-and the cool air-what a reward!
Today, the crem de la crem was coming out of a tea house-of course it was Tibetan (!) to see a growing crowd of people lining up along the small main road here in McLo-we asked if someone important was coming, and were told the Dalai Lama's motorcade was coming into town! We got to see his car whiz by, but almost as fun was the crowd of well-wishers and jovial atmosphere as all his adoring fans waited in glee just to catch a glimpse of the great peace leader.
I ended today doing what I love to do in McLo-teach English to Tibetan refugees. As I sat across from a monk who only a few years ago walked out of Tibet to escape Chinese prosecution, and listened to his stories of before China and after, I felt this was so worth the 4 day bus trip. I wish everyone has this opportunity in this ilfetime to meet and work with these amazing Tibetan people! There is so much that can be done to help them, and I will write more in next blog about how to do that. It is a culture we need to preserve and help-I know of no other people who spend the great part of their lifetime praying and sending mantras out to the atmosphere for loving kindness and compassion for all living beings. Namaste-Tashi Delek and Tu de Chey for reading this-Jan

Bus to Delhi-part 2

Let me see if i can do justice to the chaotic and ancient border crossing between nepal and india. First one goes from jungle greenery and bird chattering to carts pulled by handsome white brahmin bulls and steered by thin brown men wearing ragged shorts and white shirts. rickshaws painted in all sorts of red and yellow flowery designs, some with the extra protection of having Shiva or Krisna painted on them, some with interesting phrases like "love me tender" and next to it the Hindu god with a cow body and man's head. The traffic begins to congest, the tourist busses idle in line spewing diesel, motors at a quiet rumble, children lugging even smaller children on their hips are plying the line of tourist busses trying to catch your eye and maybe a rubee tossed their way. The many mongrel dogs sniff the street for any chance of a half-eaten roti or picked over trash. Trucks hauling all sorts of merchandise make another line, each facing their prospective borders, waiting for the long pole that is balanced at one end by a configuration of old tires all tied helter-skelter with rope and twine to weight down one end. Police from both sides chat with shop keepers, no one seems concerned about smuggling or any of the other kind of border riffraff that i'v become acustumed to with all my crossings into mexico. Their is hardly any to no private vehicles here-in fact, most are walking across, carrying their shopping bags and personal belongings balanced on their head, obediant children in hand.
There is a space of about 100 yards between both border "poles" and in this no man's land, free enterprise is going on. Hot chai is being peddaled, all kinds of wares one might need for a long bus ride, material in case you need to quickly sew up an outfit, I guess, hardware, roasted corn and juice in convenient travel sized boxes. But most interesting is the wandering of dazed and confused tourists, most Danny's age, with backpacks on their backs like turtle shells, tired and wondering which small shoulder-width shop is the immigration office, where you need to go twice, once for Nepal and once for India.
If it wasn't for my dear friend Kelsang, I'd be just as confused and wandering, trying my best to avoid the sleeping dogs, some so thin that when they lay in depressions in the road they are level with the ground and you could step on them thinking it just some fur. As Kelsang led me into a gritty dark immigration booth for India, with two very tired and bored officials, look all the world as if they were need of a tea break, although it was only 6:30 am, I took a quick note at the passports being shoved their way by tourists eager for attention. Ireland, United Kingdom, Germany, France-ah yes, the usual Europe contingent-and me, the only American.
There is a certain finese with which to get an indian officer to give you their attention, no I take that back. This applies to any Indian you need service from, whether for a bottle of "sanchey panni" (cold water) or your passport stamped.

Direct Bus To Delhi-36 Hours!!!

The hand-lettered sign on the window of the bus ticket store in Boudha practically shouted at you in large red writing: "Direct Bus to Delhi-36 hours!!!!" I though that could be interpreted two ways: You'd be crazy to ride the bus to Delhi because it's a 36 hour trip, or it's just amazing that you could ride a bus to Delhi in 36 hours. Ummm. There wasn't much choice for me and my Tibetan friend. Flying just isn't possible when you have a Dalia Lama passport, but India and Nepal have an open border, and crossing isn't to difficult if you are Nepali, or I guess, Tibetan. We bought our tickets to Delhi-for about $23 each, one way, and got some last minute advice from my yoga guru, Dr. Suboh, on how best to preserve my saniety on a funky bus on crazy roads in a beautiful but remote part of the world. First, give your day variety, he advised-miz it up-breathing meditation, reading, writing, watching scenery, some simple yoga exercises in seat, drinking water, do over. I was actually looking forward to rest and reading and packed two books I've been wanting to pour over, one Kim by Rudyard Kipling, and The Tipping Point.
We set off from Bouhda Stuppa, in a rather nice bus but with none of the advertised ammenities that were lettered on back of bus working. "DVD!! A/C!! Tinted Windows!! Music!! All spelled out a party bus for sure, but maybe during the first year of life for old betsy, who now looked as worn and down-trodden as a water buffalo at the end of its life span.
Tsering my friend sat up front next to another Tibetan lad and I had the good fortune to have a young Tibetan lady sit next to me, also Tsering (there is not "boy-girl name in Tibeten culture). She was reading and marking up a school paper on the Dalai Lama's Middle Way teaching, and intriqued, i rudely read over her shoulder and asked her about it. A high school student, she was mature beyond her years, full of vitality and life and opinions of the Tibet situation. We talked for hours as our old bus lurched out of Kathmandu, running into the usual traffic jam of busses and trucks that always seems to plaque the one two way highway in Nepal.It was hot and humid, but soon rain began to fall and I was hoping there would be enough light left in the day for me to see the infamous Terai of Nepal, home of rhino, elephant and tiger, and many nature parks, also Maoists and rebels. We actually did reach Chitwin area at dusk and many "jungle" lodges and guest house sprang up on both sides of the road, as did jungle and lush greenery. It was a beautiful ride through the mountains and terraced rice paddies and now this wilderness. God, I love Nepal,I thought, as darkness and more rain came, along with thunder and lightening. Finally, the driver and his "entourage" (about 4 guys sat up front in his "room" with him, closed off to the passengers by glass partition and curtains) and of course young male conductor, who stood at open door, occasionally being required to jump off and run ahead or behind or pound on bus sides in mysterious road signal code-so the driver pulled over about 2 am, shut off the lumbering diesel motor and the conductor yelled at us in Nepali, Tsering (male) told me it was where we would have tea (at 2 am?!!) sleep and hang out until border opened-we were actually within yards of the border to India and apparently the border closes and doesn't open until 6 am.
Weary and dizzy with bus bumping up and down, all passengers disembarked and staggered around getting our land legs under us again, Tsering, Tsering and I ordered milk tea which was refreshing and good in the jungle heat of night, and batted mosquitos away -realizing we were actually sitting next to a jungle bog on one side of us. Most choose to go back into the hot and humid bus with it's open windows and doors and swat mosquitos there throughout the rest of night, but I wrapped myself in my Nepali wrap around skirt and found a table to lay on, listening to jungle insects and watching a moon play hide and seek with clouds overhead, and drapped my bandana over my face to keep mosquitos from getting into my eyes or ears, and believe it or not, fell asleep for a little bit, being awakened at dawn by a Nepali lady open her chai stand with a banging of pots and pans, apparently I was asleep on her table and she had customers to get ready for. She laughed as I sat up and looked around-I must have seemed like a space alien with my strange American looks and as old as her! We namasted each other and laughed with her and felt good-I made it through one night, one night to go and then we'd be in Delhi! (end part one)　　

Rain, Yoga, Savassana!

Pounding rain hits the stucco roof of the small room where I sit typing this. It seems the monsoon has arrived, and the rain is more frequent now and a bit more of it pours from the skies each time. It creates waterfalls of red mud on the walkways of the yoga center I am staying at for the next few days. Our friend Rajan Simkhada, who helped spearhead the village school project for HANDS encouraged me to retreat to the center for some well-needed rest, and I am so glad to be here! Guests stay in white safari style tents, each with two beds with firm mattresses and quilts. \flowers and tropical plants are everywhere and bird song fills the air, giving the feel of staying in a rainforest, and with the rainfall, we very well are! \from the flagstone porch of my tent I can look across the valley to Swayamboth, a famous Buddhist temple where Lord Buddha once taught, 2,500 years ago. Each morning guests are given freshly made mint tea and have a yoga class with Dr. Subodh Simkhada, a certified yoga teacher and Naturopathic physician. With no work scedule to hurry off to, participants can sip tea while listening to his lecture on yoga and spirituality, and then begin the day with a series of asanas meant to gently wake the body and mind. AFterwards, you are given a menu of simple, organic breakfast items to pick from, this morning I had homemade muesli and yogurt. Hiking, resting, writing, sitting are the acticities for the rest of morning, after lunch there is massage, yoga, evening meditation and dinner. I feel as if I am in yoga heaven! I have never treated myself to a stay like this in a place like this and it is dreamy! Nepal's prices fit my pocketbook-it is $45 a day all inclusive, spa treatment and food and classes and tent-and be assured-no HANDS funds are going into this stay! It is well worth my visit to the ATM I found in Kathmandu that actually works to draw out $7,000 rubees for my two day stay!
If you are curious to see pictures of this amazing place, go to their internet site:
www.yogainnepal.com I highly recommend such a stay here for anyone planning a trip to Nepal.
For now, I am off to my tent to finish an Indian novel I picked up somewhere and then start Rudyard Kipling's Kim novel, one I found at a guesthouse in Pokhara and have always wanted to read. IN two days I leave for \delhi by bus-a 36 hr. ride and then a 12 hr. bus ride up the hills to Dharamsala-wish me luck!!!

I go to Prison in Kathmandu

I had read in a book somewhere that there are often foreigners locked up in the jail in Kathmandu, and in need of help. I decided as part of my Bohdisattva vows (Buddhist intention to spread compassion and help eliminate suffering) I needed to go to the prison and check out the situation for any foreigners who might speak English that I could commmunicate with.
This was as much a mind-blowing exp. as you can imagine. The prison area itself is a compound of old and shabby brick two story buildings. There are several courtyards and even more surprised the dirt road that leads right into the middle of it is open and not blocked by gates or anything like we'd have in US. In fact, if not for the armed guards watching from four corners in the area, you'd mistakenly walk right into this yard-like prison-and yes, it is low secrity or so it seems, but this is where everyone is locked up-passport offenders to murders.
We waited at an imaginary line on the dirt road with a small group of locals hoping to gain entrance to see their incarcerated family and friends. At a mysterious signal, suddenly everyone rushed across the dirt road to a very old cement building where guards sat to check you in. I had to give up my passport, my ipod, my camera and batteries, but got to keep my purse, money belt and books and soaps I had brought in to give to prisioners. I had also brought a big greasy bag of freshly fried "rotis"-a type of Nepali donut, and got to keep those too. After a body pat down, I was taken to a room with a list of foreign prisoner's names written in chalk, their nationality and offense. I scanned the list looking for American citizens and only found one a "Geraldine Bush" from-yes, Texas! Could it be one of the Bush kin had got in trouble in Kathmandu? I wrote her name down for a request, along with a French man and a Tibetan who's last name was "lama."
Once you hand the names to a guard, you are taken to a waiting room, ouside, where you can see the jail entrance, and out in front are two concrete benches that hold about 7 people each, with a 3 ft. concrete wall separating people. Visitors sit on one side of the wall, prisioners on the other, and you can hand your goods to a guard that is watching and they then hand them to the prisoner. The first person brought out to meet me was not any that I had requested, but a very big, dark African from Nigeria-who said he had been on a trekking trip in Nepal and then used some drugs and got caught. "How long was that?" I aksed- "Oh, about 1997," he causually replied. O M G! In jail since then because he cannot post his bail. Despite his long incarceration and many more years to go (he said he got the max. sentence of 15 years.) he seemed pretty happy and in good health. I looked around at the row of prisionres chatting amiably with their kin and all looked clean, happy and in a pleasant sort of mood. I offered a magazine, book and some chapatis to my AFrican friend and we said our Namastes. He was very delighted to have my visit and expressed his appreciation and then walked back into the barred gate. The guard sitting there (none of the guards around here had guns or any kind of uniform, in fact it was difficult to tell the prisioners from the guards!) yelled another name and then we waited and were told to walk around to another small courtyard to meet our "lama" from Tibet. This courtyard was as pleasant and airy and nice as any outdoor cafe in the back streeets of Kathmandu. A large gold Buddhas statue,about 12 feet high, adorned with fresh flowers and kata scarfs sat smiling serenly over all. It lent a very non-threatening air to the whole place and made me reflect on how harsh our American society is to our prisioners and condemning them for a mistake-here, the atmosphere was so different. It is so hard to describe if you haven't been to this part of the world, where the hardships are so many that everyone has a very patient and tolerant attitude towards life and seems more resigned tht we are not perfect, mistakes are made and you attone for them and move on. You are not a horrible person in the eyes of Buddha, the statue reminds you that imperfection is as much a part of life as seeking perfection, and to not give up on taming the monkey mind we are all born with!
My next "guest" came out, a young Tibetan man with a large Om tatoo on one arm and a double dorje tatoo on the other (dorgee is a very powerful symbol, like lightening, to Tibetans). He had been on a trip to India to see the Dalai Lama and was involved in a bus accident, some people were killed in the accident he said and he was arrested-he thing\ks because he did not have the right immigration papers and was "caught". This is common-Nepal and India have a very open border, and while it is near impossible to fly out of Nepal without passport and visa, you can travel overland and cross the border fairly easily=paying off the guards there. That is how myTibetan son and I are going to Dharmasala, India soon, overland, a 4 day bus ride, because he cannot fly with "Dalai Lama" passport, as the Tibetans say.
This young man had been in jail here for several years and felt he had several more to go because he had no money for his bail or fine. I asked him if any Americans were locked u pwith him-"Yes, many" he said. Would I like him to find one for me and bring him out? Yes indeed! So off he went and soon a tall, dignified older man, who reminded me very much of Don, looking all the world like a retired trekker who just came back from Everest came out smiling. We Namasted and sat down-I was a little shocked to see such a man, but as soon as he opened his mouth, I knew he was not American by the accent. No, he said, I am French. He had been living some years ago in India and his visa expired so he tried to cross into Nepal-but with opium. Yes, he shook his head sadly, he wa sa total idiot at the time, but living in India you feel yo ucan do things like that, you know? And then you find there are laws and you can get arrested for drugs, despite the pot growing everywhere, free to pick and smoke. The opiom charge was the mx. he said, and he was slapped with a 16 yr. sentence and had about 2 years to go. How were things in jail? Not bad, it's okay, the same reply the first two prisioners had told me. I offered him shampoo, soap and books. He was so happy to see Danny's Henry Miller book-Yes! Yes! He knew this American author very well and liked him. Off he went with his package, but not without a warning to me and my son-"Be careful over here, " he said "many good hearted people come to Nepal to help-their hearts are in the right place, and they try to do good works-sometimes things go wrong, people get angry, business deals are messy, jealousies errupt between villages, violence lies close to the surface. He realted a few scary stories he had heard from Americans he met in jail here-people like my son, young and trying to do good, and something goes array, people get offended. Be careful! Nepal is no different from ther rest of the world he said-there are very good peole here-and very bad.
I left to find the America Bush. She was a woman locked up in the woman's jail that was down another road and in a different compound. her the guards were dressed in Nepali sari's all colorful and chatting amiably, and a few woman soliders with guns lingered in the heat near the entrance, look hot and bored. I asked for the American Bush. "Bush! Bush!" they yelled into the compound behind the barred gate. Finally, a very young, weet looking pale girl came out and sat across from me. Her eyes looked blank, like she was in shock. Are you Bush? I asked. No, she looked up-surprised at the name "I am ----(name I can't remember) from Finland. WHAT?? So we chatted. She said she was in jail for losing her passport! O M G again! Lose your passport, go to jail. Did her family know she was in here? Yes, they are coming to help her. How long has she been in here? Two months. That didn't seem right to me-it was taking two months for her family to help her? I aksed her if I could take some information home with me to try and reach her family. No, she was fine. did she know an American here named Bush? Yes, Bush from Texas, she is mental, she told me. Crazy. Says she knows the president. Hand gesture to head indicating lack of mental facilities.
A headache had been growing in my own head, the heat and humidity were oppressive, I had to go and get some food. I had been u since 5 am doing Kora first at Boudha stuppa with Karma, now this, I had to go-no more prison visits. My heart ached fro these lost soulds, yet it was good to see they are not mistreated here. I do feel the religious spirituality of Nepal prevails to create a climate of fairness and karma for all living beings. The dogs loose on the street are not mistreated but stepped over and tolerated with no bother, the animals are happy and content, the donkeys work hard but are not beaten, the people are terribley poor but happy and treat each other well. The prisoners I saw here were not sad or miserable, they were well feed and clean, they wore clean clothes they graciously accepted my gifts but didn't act like they really needed them. It was good to see the spiritual nature of Nepal doesn't end at the imaginary prison line that exisit somewhere on this dirt road into this interesting compound.
We gathered our mobile, ipod, camera, and dear, dear passport, which I kissed in front of the the guards and they laughed, knowing full well how much trouble that official document can cause if not in hand. It is in my neck pouch now and will stay there as long as I am out of the country!

Om Shiva!

How do you take 23 orphans and 3 of their helpers on a field trip to the world's largest Shiva statue?
That was our task Saturday as Danny and I attempted to treat the children to an outing. Since the children rarely get out of their tiny compound to do anything, we decided to scrap up our "at home" coffee money and take the children on a field trip. Durga, the kind woman who runs the orphange, had the children washed, dressed and lined up for us when we arrived. Our Tibetan friend Kelsang, who often acts as our translator and "fixer" man, had found a bus that would hold 30 for us, for about $3,500 rubee-or about $50-this bus would stay with us for the day and included the driver and his "conductor"-a must for Nepali travels.
The children's eyes were bright and their smiles big as we set off trhough the dusty, winding, crowded streets of Kathmandu. Soon our little bus, painted with Shiva and his white bull Nandi on the back, began to clmib into the hills, past rice paddies and green fields, and slowly up to the ancient town of Bhactapur. AFter about anhorus drive, Nepali music playing loudly and the kids chattering, we spied our first view of the enormous Shiva-about 150 ft. up on a hill, overlooking all. Squeals of delight and awes as we all shifted to the left side of the bus to catch a better look. Up and up the bus down-shifted and the chatter inside grew louder. Soon we were pouring out of the bus and hiking up the hillside to the entrance. I had been trying to calculate in my head how much the entire day was going to cost-rubees for water, rubees for snacks, etc. everything times 30. Om Shiva, when we walked up to the entrance, and found they were giving free pepsi and box snacks to all who entered. AFter doing more thena few rounds of inspecting the statue from big tow to tip of trident spear, we settled in some shade to hear local Nepali musicians play "puja" music in honor of the Shiva shrine.
The children were hungry again and it was growing late, so we herded everyone down to our Shiva bus, loaded up and found a restaurant and green, grassy area to have some chowmein. 30 orders again, and 30 bottles of water! After enjoying our meal while sitting around a low table on the ground, we again loaded up the so very well-behaved kids and set off for Kathmandu. The driver and conductor had been enjoying themselves immensely, and I included them in our lunch and tea, so they were very happy, the kids were happy, Shiva was happy-it was a joyous time had by all. When we returned to the orphanage, the little ones who stayed behind came running down the short driveway to grab Danny Sir's big hands, and hanging onto his hands and legs, lead him up to the main yard. No one seemed to mind not going, these kids are just amazing in their equitable behavior towards each other. It was such a pleasure to be around such well-behaved children who appreciate and are so grateful for all anyone does for them. I had enjoyed talking to some of the older girls, who are high swchool age and telling me their dreams of becoming a nurse or teacher. "I will do my best to get you tuition for your school," I promised. It costs about $1,500 USdolalrs for the odler kids to go to boarding school to get their higher education-that includes everything-food and board. Not so much in US terms, but light years away when a poor orphan. The two girls I talked to, so well mannered and groomed, grew up in Buddhist Child Home, and seemed like exceptional human beings. So if you are reading this and feeling these girls are worthy of a good education and a chance to become something noble and do good with their lifes, you can send any donations to Hands in Nepal marked for Buddhist Child Home and I promise it will go to their education. I can and gladly will send pictures of the girls to anyone requesting this, and any other information I can supply on their education., As they say at Buddhist Child Home: "Love all, Serve All"-I so much want to thank anyone willing to help out-they are truly worthy girls!! Namaste!! Jan

Ama and Karma go to Pokhara

Ama and Karma are Danny's other parents-the Tibetan family that takes diligent care of him as if he is one of their children,when he is in Kathmandu. Karma walked out of Tibet many years ago with his family and has made a decent living as a Tibetan Thangka painter-and Ama,his loyal Nepali wife, has completly adopted Tibetan culture as her own,wearing the Tibetan chupa dress and aporn and speaking fluent Tibetan and practicing the Buddhist faith as if her birth religion. The two have raised 6 children and through hard work have managed to send them all over the years to the USA. They have always sacrificed for their children, and have traveled very little,rarely leaving Kathmandu, so when Danny and I announced we were going to Pokhara, a lakeside city about 6 hrs.bus ride from Kathmandu, to visit the Tibetan Refugee Camp, I invited them both to come along my treat for all their good care of Danny, who they dote over as if their own son.
We left on a "tourist" bus, term used loosely here to note a bus that isn't going to stop every ten minutes to cram more bodies in, and immediately Karma,who showed up with a huge mala of bone carved in skulls and adorned with turquoise (you would have to know about Tibetan Buddhism to understand that this is a very powerful mala) slung over his left shoulder and under his right arm, began to chant a Buddhist mantra-something like "Om Mani Padme Hum" but many more syllables and over and over ina drone, that later he said was blessing the bus,driver and all the occupants. As we passed broken down busses, crashed busses and stalled busses, this became very reassuring.
We made several stops along the way for bathroom breaks and meals, as is typical in bus travel in Nepal. Karma and Ama took in the beautiful green scenery as we sped downhill from Kathmandu and then along the river, past rice paddies and fields of corn and terraced hillsides and Karma exclaming: "Oh My God" at the pristine scenery. We eventually made it to Pokhara about 3 that afternoon,and took a taxi, the 5 of us (Yungdung was also along, Danny's Tibetan brother) crammed in a Suzuki taxi, and found a guest house called "Moonland" a few blocks up from the lake that a tout had convinced us was a great bargain at 400 rubees a night ( about $6/night). We got two nice rooms, one with a double and a twin bed for Yungdung,Danny and myself,and a double for Ama and Karma. Then we ordered milk tea onthe veranda and sipped it enjoying crickets and frogs,and Karma noted there were no cars "singing" inthis peaceful town, compared to all the "singing" that goes on in Kathmandu!
I convinced them to take a stroll lakeside, and Karma, still wearing the protective mala,and Ama in her Tibtan apron, agreed to venture out before we had dinner and check out the lake. There are large wooden boats you can rent for a few dollars and I had a dream of rowing Ama and Karma around the lake, but they quickly shook their heads and waggled fingers they would not enjoy it at all/ Ama said she was once in a boat on a lake when they lived in India and did not enjoy it at all and Karma then told us a story about being in a rice pot when a child and playingiin the river and tipping over and water cominglike this (gestures as water is swallowed and belly grows large) and throw up water like this (again more gestures) and I understood then how scary it must seem to be on water when you can't swim.
Danny, Yungdung (who also can't swim) and I rowed about as Karma and Ama smiled and waved at us from shore. Then we found a lakeside cafe and ordered pizza to munch with a pot of milk tea and I realized this was also a first for Karma and Ama, who after that, insisted on eating only dahl bhat every night.
The next day we hailed a cab and paid the driver an extra 50 rubees (about .75) to take us all the way to the Tibetan Refugee Camp, which was built in1965 after China invaded Tibet and many Tibetans poured over the Himalayas to Nepal to escape the persecution and oppresion of China against their culture and religion. This camp houses about 1,000 refugees, or 'fugees, and our friends in Nepal say it, and is one of the largest and oldest. We came to see if HANDS could do something to help the children in their education here,and we were very surprised at what we found!

For part two go to http://handsinnepal.blogspot.com/p/tibetan-refugee-camp.html

Hearts in Nepal Part 3 (and final chapter!)

As I mentioned in Part 2, it is definately worth the time to go back and read from the beginning of this rather long blog entry. There is so much to share and tell, and for those of you who have been on the journey with us since the beginning, you will enjoy so much reading of the fruits of your generosity!
One part of the ceremony that I do not want to leave out was the care and kindness offered to us by Protap, our project manager-and really every one of the villlagers, when Protap asked us all the stand for a one minute silent meditation in honor of our son Sean Chaffin. Earlier he has asked me to write the names of our family members, including Danny's brother who had died. Everyone in the village knows about Danny's older brother having fallen to his death 10 years ago, and they all take that great sorrow and pain into their hearts, knowing fully well how such a loss can affect one forever. So touched were Danny and I, standing side by side in our school, the fresh light pouring in through a gap in the tin roof that was still being put on, workers outside hammering away on the roof in fact, but now also falling silent as we all stood as one, heads bowed, reflecting on life, death, sons, family, two cultures joining together, children, our future. Danny touched my shoulder lightly in assurance that he was there with me, and it felt as if now I had so many sons I would never lack in my mothering practice!
AFter the speeces and ceremony, we wandered back out into the bright light of the mountains, and Rajan redirected us up the trail to the village heart, where there is a small cafe, and were we ate-yes-dahl bhat and hot tea. It seemed a good time to nap as a fat, piebald goat was doing at the small plaza built around a giant shade tree, his goat horns leaning against the low wall, eyes shut and almost snoring, so content in the heat and lack of diversions! Danny wanted to take us up the path a ways, to show us an amazing view of the upper regions of the village, so he, Kelsang and I did, stopping to say our Namastes at Manju, the school teacher's house. Once back from our side-trip, we descended to the camp below, to swim and cool off in the river. It was a welcome reward and the Ganesh Himal peaks broke through some building monsoon clouds to smile at us swimming below. I felt I could buy a house here and stay awhile, and floated on my back dreaming of life in Dharka.

Hearts in Nepal-Part Two

If you haven't read part one,you might want to pour some milk tea and catch up! It's a story worth taking a tea break for, and in this part of the world, Nepali spicy tea sweet wtih sugar and cooled with creamy milk is tops.
Got your hot tea?Cell phone off? SO there I was in Dharka, hot and sweaty but filled with happiness that our school stood before us, nearly finished when just less then a year ago, Danny and I had walked this area of terraced hillsides trying to imagine how they would fit a school on the shelf of land. But it was not as difficult for the villagers to visualize, those strong, kind hearted people who work this land with such determination to makea good life here, as they have for centuries. The children lined up with the help of adults who stood them from smallest to tallest, each child had in hand a necklace of hand strung flowers or a white kata ,the traditional Buddhist blessing scarf. Rajan, cheerful as always but even more so today, told us that we were to proceed between the two lines of children, bowing and saying our "Namastes" to them as they carefully placed the adornments over our heads and said their greeting.I could not help but claps my large old hands around each pair of sweet small hands and treid to match their innocent stares with the love I truly felt in my heart. I hoped they sense the swell of admiration I felt for how hard the villagers had work to make the school happen, and for these, their wonderful children. The children here in the village are so polite and so amazenly kind to us strangers-it is enogh to fill your heart over and over. They come up to you and "Namaste" with the most beautiful smiles, and observe all the correct protocol in ceremonies such as this.
AFter we walked the line of children,bowing and namasting, we light a candle that made up a small alter, with flowers and fruit. I presentd the villagers and children with my sheet I had brought, where I had painted a crude map of the world with a rainbow linking California to Dharka,and had had my own students in Guadalupe press their painted hands around the border,and now had paint to do the same with the Nepali children. Our cultural connection had begun! Rajan then gave me a tour with our project manager Protap, and I stared in wonder as we went into each of the 4 rooms and aborped the light and fresh air coming in from the doors and windows. The view was the most stunning of all. Right out the front doors of each four rooms spreads below the valley and river, with mountains and green jungle below. Way off in the distance are the towering peaks of the Himalayas, and of course the peak of Ganesh Himal overlooking all. How inspiring!
Rajan then told us we would have a ceremony and many speeches, and a table,bench for honored guests and straw mats for others, were brought into one of the classrooms. There we sat listening to village officials and those involved in the project making heartfelt speeches, that despite the communication gap,I felt deeply each carefully chosen word. Then is was Danny's turn to speak and the audience gave him thunderous applause, then me, "Amma" tried to add some words of wisdom and speak from my heart, and then Rajan gave a wonderful speech that went fromhumerous to stern to serious to funny,keeping all attention,even the smallest inthe crowd, listening intently!

Hearts in Nepal

Danny and I have just returned from Dharka village today, tired, sore muscles and happy faces. We left a few days ago to travel up to the village to see the condition of the school. Rajan was anxious for us to go before the monsoon rains began, as the rough, dirt road will proably close once the rains fall and turn the already treacherous track to slippery mud. It had been a year since I last traveled to Dharka and my head was full of imagining what awaited us-on the road and at the end of the trail, high up in the Ganesh Himals at the village. Danny had recently returned from the village as I arrived in kathmandu, so our joyful reuniting was kept short by the necessity to repack and head out to the hills once again.
The road to Dharka is paved with good intentions, I thought, as we jostled along first in the overcrowded mini-van from Kathmandu with our Tibetan friend Kelsang Lodue and Rajan Simkhada. The ride was painfully slow in the heat and over-crowded conditions requiring passengers to sit sideways to accomodate shoulders and knees-and some bailing out for the fresh air and more spacious quarters rooftop with the luggace. Our stop was Dhading Besi, about 3 hours out of Kathmandu but today 6 hrs because of a terrible backlog of traffic on the one and only two lane highway of Nepal. Once in Dhading, we unkinked our limbs and wobbled to a cafe for Dahl Bhat (rice and lentils) and then procurred a jeep taxi for the now 4 hour rigurous route to the outback and then our hike up to Dharka. It is not a trip for the faint of heart, in all respects of the word, but the rewards are unbelievable beautiful scenery and an amazing step back in time. Farmers working fields with water buffalos and colorful Nepali women with baskets on their heads, children playing with stickes and hoops-there is a true self-reliance out here that we seldom get to see in the "modern" world. The rugged jeeps break down frequently and ours did so, shortly after we began the dirt track, it seemd something snapped on the frame and so all passengers had to disembark and we waited patiently, as you learn to do in this part of the world, for the next "taxi" to come by. Soon enough one did and we reloaded and left our old driver and his broken jeep on their own. The ride was bone crunching, the silt suffocating, and the heat unbelievable, but the excitement overrode it all as we neared the end of the trail, about 12 hours since we left Kathmandu. Now with dark coming, we hiked to the nearest overnight 'hostel'-a thatched roofed, wood bed arrangement near a roaring river with a kind Nepali woman who made us dahl bhat and hot tea. I was so exhausted from the day's travel i just wanted to eat, drink and collapse and soon did.
The morning broke with singing birds, a cool mist rising and several porters, who had stopped to sleep along with us for the night, smoking for their breakfast before gathering huge loads on their backs to set off in all directions for villages-pvc pipe, tin and wood were some of the things on small strong backs as loads were shouldered, a few words said, and off they went, most barefoot. We ate a simple Nepali breakfast of chickpeas and hot tea and watched several donkey trains come by, bells ringing and the boy walking behind whistling to the good donkeys to keep moving, although one diverted to make a quick stab at slurping some dish water by the dripping pvc hose. We began our own ascent up the smooth worn steps to Dharka village, way above us. We reached the village about 2 hours from leaving our camp, hot, sweaty and leg sore, but happy because some of the locals had come down to meet us, with Namastes and excitement in their eyes. I guessed something was up, Rajan had said the school was nearly finished but had made no mention of a ceremony. I soon so blue-clad children peering over the edge of a terraced field about us as Danny pointed out that we were soon to top off the steep climb at the school site. The anticipation of seeing "our" school finished-a reality and no longer a dream, gave me renewed vigor. And then we were there! A small group of two dozen villagers and children began to clap as we made our way to the flat area of the school, sitting almost impossible real, red clay and stone, tin roof shining, a hand-woven arch over the entrace, a banner with Nepali writing on it that later was translated to me as "Ganesh Himal Primary School" But mostly, the beautiful faces of the darling children, looking happy, excited and amazed at their foreign visitors who appeard on the rise! I wanted to hug all of them, wrap my sweaty arms around the whole group of villagers who clapped and sang out "Namastes!" to us with such happiness and joy on their faces! (This is part one, part two to come soon-time for kora!) Namaste!!! Jan

I Would Like To Thank..the HANDS Family!

We had a great slideshow recently at the Porch Cafe in Santa Margarita, with a hearty turnout of friends and those who read the recent article in New Times (NT May 20, 2010 "Classrooms In The Clouds," by Kathy Johnston). Don and I poured over his hundreds of photos taken from his recent trip to Nepal to help with the school project along with more photos supplied by Danny's friend Nate Abate, who had also gone over to Nepal to check out the school project. We edited and deleted our selection so as to provide maximum insight into the culture and beauty of the area, along with photos showing the school going up stone by stone. We tried our best not to make it a "And here I am at the Temple of Shiva" and "Here I am eating my mo'mo's.." type of vacation wrap-up-a vacation for Don it was not, and some people came to see where their donations were going, others to see if the project was legitimate, and some just curious and wondering if they could help.

Don and I saw the program as a brief overview of the country of Nepal, including its remoteness and poverty, as well as the culture and people, ever fascinating, warm-hearted, generous and kind. And then there's the political situation of late-lots of protests, "bhandas"-strikes, and politicians struggling to rebuild a (fill-in blank):democratic, communist, socialist constitution after hundreds of years of monarchy rule. We hoped to enlighten, share our experiences and tried to explain why we feel so strongly that building a school, in a remote village in the Dhading district, will help future Nepalis make the best decisions for their country and further spread peace in the world.

What I realized in hind-sight was that there just wasn't enough time or space in the cozy Porch to say all we wanted to say, to thank all we truly are grateful for and want to thank, as our little school gets it's tin roof as I write this, and Danny hopefully is celebrating with villagers that HANDS did it-the school is nearly finished!

I can't tell all of you (does anyone really read this blog??!!) how much Don, Danny and I appreciate from the depths of our hearts all your support and love and kindness in helping us build this little school. It all began as a dreamy vision when our son Danny expressed a desire to run his own NGO, and taking the lead from Greg Mortenson, who wrote 3 Cups of Tea and built a school in Pakistan, that maybe he could help his Nepali friends by doing the same. His contact with a young owner of a trekking company in Kathmandu, Rajan Simkahada, led to the finding of Dharka, a village in the foothills of the Ganesh Himalayas, a terraced and remote village where Rajan had grown up. A school was needed and he was excited to help us procure land and lay the groundwork for building it, "all" we needed to do was raise the money-an NGO was born. Close friends were brought into the dream-an acronym came to light, HANDS, meaning Humanitarian Acts in Nepal Developing Schools. It seemed a natural fit and Danny's NGO was soon born. Don suggested Danny take a semester off from his full-load at Naropa University, where he was a Peace major student. The money saved from supporting him in one semester could help cover travel and living abroad expenses while he worked on the school. Next was how to raise the money-didn't it take thousands to build a school? We investigated web sites of other such organizations, such as Room To Read. It was a little discouraging to read their web site say a Nepali school cost them about $40,000 to build. Fortunately, we had a village with land donated and villagers eager to volunteer labor too. Our materials for Dharka would be rock and stone from the village itself, and so costs would be much lower-in fact Rajan projected about $6-7,000.000 USD.

We had a name, and a date for Danny to fly over to Nepal to begin construction during "dry season"-Jan-May. Now we needed the funds. Danny was head over heals involved with finals and finishing his Fall semester at Naropa. So we turned to family and friends to help us raise the funds. Stacy Chinander came up with a beautiful logo for HANDS, plus put together a web page for giving information about our mission. She took photos I had sent her of my trip with Danny to the village that summer and put together a slideshow and posted it on You Tube. She then made and sent us business cards-it was beginning to feel like we really were a legitimate NGO! Of course, we were, having to file and process all our NGO IRS legal paperwork.

Over the next months, we held a major dinner to raise money, with lots of donated items for a silent auction, and then the funds began to trickle in. First, from family (many thanks to my Sibs! Jim, Sandy, Katy, Patty!!) Brother Jim decided to make an effort by being HANDS Ambassador on the island of Kauai where he lives, to help spread the word about the school to tourists and locals alike. Good friends from work, including Don's clients, and our village of Margarita, (so many I am afraid to mention names for fear of leaving someone out!) Many stepped up to help by soliciting donations for us, as their passion in education and working to remove illiteracy matched our vision-many new friends came into the fold. My friend Danielle held a bake sale at her school and raised hundreds for us, ny friend Susan Silva sold Nepali items to help raise money, as did Sandra Bates in Colorado, my sister signed up for a Rubio's Fish Taco benefit for HANDS, my friend Julee Bauer created a wonderful cultural exchange with her third graders and Nepali students, raising money for hackey sack balls and donating to the school effort. In fact many teachers at Mary Buren Elementary School, where I teach, have been so supportive in our school building through one means or another. My good friends at North County White Heron Sangha donated money, food for benefits and help with fundraising and spreading the word, and two outstanding restaurants in our area-The Range and Thai Elephant were endlessly generous in donating food for fundraiser dinners. Santa Margarita Coffee House, The Porch gave coffee at a dinner and then use of their cafe for the slideshow, Kathy and Eric Schwartz made us brochures AND paid to ship 8 boxes of donated books to Kathmandu for the school. Don's parents wrote out a generous check and the Lutheran Church in Owatonna, Minnesota, gave $2,000.00 to HANDS after Stacy went to their board and did a presentation.

When Danny went to Nepal earlier this year to begin the building, he knew there would lots of obstacles. Nothing is easy in a country with a shaky infrastructure and political messes. But he had the backing of many, many people who believed in his NGO and in education as a key to world peace. People say, "You must be so proud of Danny," and of course I am. But I am also so proud of the human race. We make so many messes in the world, yet we try so hard to clean up what mistakes have been made and try harder to be better people. The United States is going through a difficult time, financially, morally and with the endless war in the Middle East, you would think people would be discouraged and despondent. But I've found open-hearts on this path, encouragement, inspiration and people who are so excited to be part of the project in any way they can. They offer advice, talents in areas where they are experts, and money from $1.00 to many dollars. To say it's been uplifting and life confirming to us seems trite, it almost goes beyond words, the feeling of so many believing in the power of a little school in the Himalayas.

As many friends and family know, Don, Danny and I went through a terrible tragedy 10 years ago when our son Sean fell at Bishop's Peak and died. Danny has always sought a way to honor the memory of his brother's 22 years of life, and we all have lived with Sean's strong desire to capture and use every moment of life to its fullest. We know in our hearts he is part this latest journey, we feel his spirit and vibes pushing us to help others and do good. When you lose something as great as a child, a son, a brother, a precious human being, you begin to live life as the Dalai Lama once said "as if your hair is on fire." There is not a precious minute to be lost or squandered, and so much good to do out there. There really are no excuses. One dollar is 72 rubees in Nepal is a couple of booklets and pencils is the means to go to school for one more day for a child. It's not about how big your house is, how new your Pottery Barn furniture or making your presence known at the next big social function. I truly believe in joining my sons-Danny and Sean-on this mission, I've found the secret to a happy life. Live as if you are so fortunate to have waken up today, expand your heart out to others and that your life here is to benefit others as much as possible. And maybe that's just saying a little prayer for children everywhere to have the means to pick up a book and read, and through their education can help the future of their country, not through bombs, but through books. You do make a difference, and all those who have joined us in our HANDS project have made this mission a reality. We are so thankful to see it happen! We feel so blessed by everyone of you! We include you all in our family and send you many Namastes (as the Nepali's would say, bowing with hands clapsed at the heart) and Tashi Deleks (as our Tibetan friends would say, hands clapsed and to the head)-Thank You! Thank You! Thank You! From the heart-Jan

As I sit here tapping away at my laptop keys, sipping coffee, I wonder if Danny is doing the same at a funky internet cafe, sipping chai, in India. Since the Maoist invasion of Kathmandu and the following unsettling of the government there, he has been across the border in a more "secure' country politically, for now. It is difficult to know the right thing to do in this unexpected turn of events. Because the Nepal Communist party, known in Nepal as "Maoists" is flexing muscle and demanding radical changes in the Nepal government, Don and I have asked Danny to leave the country and stay in India a few weeks. Last summer he and I traveled in Northern India to Dharamsala, among other places, and enjoyed tutoring and working with Tibetan refugees there. They literally walk out of Tibet, fleeing Chinese persecution, to join the Tibetan Government in Exhile in Mcleod Ganj, a small hamlet in the steep hills above the larger city of Dharamsala. It's a cool and refreshing change of the usual hot and steamy Indian scenery, with Tibetan prayer flags strung from tree tops and rooftops, red-clad monks walking up and down steep roads to temple and who knows where, and good Tibetan women making and selling their mo-mo's-a type of dumpling-at the entrance to the Dalai Lama's residence. Cows amble peacefully up the middle of the road and children fill schools there run by the Dalai Lama's sister, filling the air with their singing. It's an delightful atmosphere and Danny had no problem agreeing to head up to Dharamsala and Mcleod Ganj to see what he could do while we all wait and watch the Nepali news.

Lately there has been in the US papers a story about a young Colorado girl, who is Danny's age, and has gone missing in the Himalayas after leaving Kathmandu to trek alone. Alone? Anyone who has been in this area knows how extremely rough and isolated it is. It was one of my fears in Danny building a school in so remote a village. No electricity, no internet cafes to email home, no cell phone service-how would we know if he needed help or was in danger of any type? Our hearts go out to the parents, who of course are beyond worry. I want to volunteer to go help search for this adventurous young lady, and honestly feel she is being taken care of by one of the many kind-hearted Tibetan people who run tea houses along the trekking trails.

Of course, as the Dalai Lama says many times, if a problem has a solution, no worries, if a problem has no solution, no worries. Easier said then put into practice, especially when it involves our children. We had a solution, take Danny out of Nepal for now. The school is still being built by the villagers and we are in touch with our good friend Rajan. He grew up there and can make contact with people who know the progress and in fact had good news in a recent email-the school is nearly complete and roofing material being brought in! A celebration to bless the school and officially open will follow, but hopefully not without Danny and I. We so much want to be part of that celebration!

Video & Audio | The Office of His Holiness The Dalai Lama

Video & Audio | The Office of His Holiness The Dalai Lama

Home is where the Dalai Lama is

Danny made it to India, more precisely, staying at Pink House in McLoud Ganj, the upper village of the larger hillside town of Dharamsala. He made it two days ago, after flying out of Nepal and into Delhi, taking a taxi to the Tibetan Colony and getting an overnight bus from there to Dharamsala. From the bus stop there, you get a taxi, usually with as many other tourists as you can squeeze in to share the fare, and tires squealing from the exertion of gripping broken pavement on an impossible steep grade, putter up to Mcloud-we were here last summer and felt right at home with the Tibetan settlement, the ringing of temple bells, the monks clad in red walking always to somewhere, and the funky guest houses perched on the hillsides, prayer flags fluttering. The really great thing is, it's the home of the 14th Dalai Lama, who was allowed ot settle here after China invaded his country in 1959. It is now known as the home of the Tibetan Government in Exhile, and the amazing Tibetans have somehow recreated their new version of Lhasa, with places named after places that used to exist in Tibet. Buddhist artwork and statuary, giant prayer wheels, huge Thangkas and ancient scrolls have made their way to the new Lhasa, where the Tibetan community keep a steady practice of their compassion and loving-kindness philosophy in time with the spinning of their hand-held prayer wheels and mala mantras. Danny is happy to have landed here, his emails are upbeat and filled with hope of connecting with friends made last year. There is much to do to keep him occupied, such as working with the Tibet Hope Project, tutoring Tibetan refugees in English and helping monks at the Dalai Lama's temple study their English composition. As the days unfold, it remains to be seen what will happen in Nepal and if Danny can go back any time soon. Our school is fine, Don says a good amount of material is on site, enough for the villagers to continue the construction until Danny makes it back. We hear a little from our friend Rajan. He runs a trekking company, and so is having to deal with taking care of the tourists caught there in this political turmoil despite having no transportation or accessibility to other services for tourists. The Maoists will retaliate if anyone tries to operate a business during this time. So far, credit must be given to all the Nepalis who have restrained from violence during this coup. There seems to be a great amount of patience on both sides, but that is no doubt a result of the past 12 years of bloody warfare with the Maoists, and neither side seems to want to do there again. So for now, we must show the same patience, and Danny will be fine in the land of the Dalai Lama. We think of Nepal and our friends there every day, and pray for peace for all.

How do you feed 300,00 Maoists?

Don has made it home! The long flight from Kathmandu was a little exhausting, and then there's the culture shock-no cows chewing cud in the middle of the highway, forcing motor traffic to divert to left or right around the sacred beast, no trash piled by the road, no wandering sahdus covered in nothing but ash carrying their milk pail for rubees, no tiny rickshaws overly decorated with fringe balls and garish paintings of the god Shiva-the-destroyer, cobra snake around his neck, Ganges River pouring from the top his dreads, and most obvious-no tens of thousands of Maoists! So Don arrived a little worn looking from his days in Nepal, a lot leaner, muscular from walking up and down, and hairy, gray beard covering most of face. Good to have him back.

After much research on the 'net, a few very expensive phone calls to Danny in Nepal and consulting Ganesh, the remover of obstacles, Danny agreed to get out of Nepal while it's still possible and go at least next door to India. There, he will head to the Tibetan Colony on the outskirts of Delhi, find a Tibetan guest house and consulate a Tibetan about how best to get up to Dharamsala from there-the home of the Dalai Lama Tibetan Gov't. in Exhile. Once settled into our favorite guest house in Mcloud Ganj, Pink House, (obviously it's painted pink! A wonderful establishment run by two brothers from Kashmir) he will look into teaching English to Tibetan refugees and study Buddhist philosophy at the Tibetan Library located there, which has lots of classes for those seeking such knowledge. Lots to occupy one's time in this area of the Indian Himalayas while waiting for the drama in Nepal to be played out, and at least the area is peaceful-right now. We were there last summer, so I feel better knowing Danny is comfortable with people he knows, and how much better can it be then to be so close to His Holiness the 14th Dalai Lama!

We will keep contacting our friends in Kathamandu, the Karma Thubten family, doing what we can to help during this stand-off between the gov't of Nepal and the rebel Maoists. Don says Karma's house is currently well-stocked with rice, so they can hold out for awhile while stores are kept closed by the strike. If mail service is still allowed, we can send money to help them, but I wonder how and what they can use it for if stores are not allowed to do business! How do the Maoists eat?? Who is buying and preparing food for the some 300,000 I have heard are now taking up residence in parks and schools of Kathmandu? They are patrolling the streets making sure people are honoring the strike, and must be working up an appetite. How much dahl bhat can be made in a country where no one is allowed to sell or go to market? I have heard they have taken up residence in schools and some other public buildings, and patrol the streets to make sure everyone is honoring the strike. They must have a source of food but the usual chai stands and tea stalls that serve food are not operating. As they say in Nepal, "Que Karne?" What to do? and If anyone knows the answer, please let me know!

Road obstacles and bhandas

A bhanda is the word for strike in Nepal, and they happen periodically, as they do in most developing countries, and even "developed" ones, like France, where they seem to be the 'soup d jour'. Right now, half way around the world in the tiny country of Nepal, an important political drama is being played out-between Nepal's communist party and the other political parties in Nepal, of which there are many! Here is a very short and I hope accurate account of politics in Nepal which I hope will give readers a little insight into the current situation with the Maoists pouring into the Kathmandu streets in the tens of thousands.

Nepal has been one of the poorest countries on the face of this earth for a long time. Limited resources, and an ancient civilization built on a land mostly up and down as dictated by the Himalayan Mountain Range-you can imagine what a difficult place to etch out a living. Kathmandu is a valley, and attracts most people to live and work in Nepal-so it is very overpopulated-,everyone competing for a piece of the pie, doing what bartering, trading, growing and exporting they can. The people of Nepal are amazenly resourceful, generous, giving, and are on the most part deeply religious and spiritual, dutifully paying homage to their Hindi gods and goddess, laying offerings at the feet of shrines and in temples, ringing bells, chants, sweet incense smoke mingling with the diesel and trash -it is a fascinating country like no other I've ever visited.

But poverty riddled, and especially so in the mountain areas, where villagers live simply and much as they have for hundreds of years, most with no electricity, or any "modern" conveniences that we Americans take so much for granted, like a flushing toilet and a spicket with running water, or even a road to their hamlets, so much walking and portering.

The people work hard-very hard, and labor intensely and often at a sacrifice of education. Children are expected to help with the workload, and often are in the fields, side by side with adults, or carrying heavy loads of feed or food in baskets on their backs with a trump line around the head. I tried and cannot do the work of an 8 year old, nor could my 6'6" son carry the same load of corn up a steep trail that a Nepali youth half his age and size was carrying.

Nepal has been a Hindu Kingdom, in fact, only in the past few decades was its borders opened to outsiders. It was called "The Kingdom of Nepal." The Hindu King was thought to be the reincarnation of a Hindu god and his line a sacred line of rulers. The next-to-last King of Nepal was killed in a bloody massacre of the royal family, I believe this was about 10 years ago, and his brother became the successor. Corruption was said to follow that and the government received heavy criticism that they hoarded their money for the top echelon of society and neglected the poor and especially the villagers, who were asking for schools to be built in their villages, and other public services that they felt entitled to as Nepal citizens, and were not getting. And so conditions became ripe for the Communist party to come in, and organize the poor and rural folk, who gladly accepted the help of a group who seemed to be working in their best interest, not the interest of the rich only. It is the same dynamics that I have seen in other poor countries where the rural people are basically sick and tired of doing back-breaking work to enable a few at the top to live in luxury. There seems to a breaking point for all people in countries where this pattern happens, and one need only to look at Cuba, Nicaragua, and now Thailand to see what the disadvantage become the majority.

So the Nepal Communist party, or the Maoists, came to be. No, they are not Chinese or from another country as some have asked me, as in "What are Chinese Maoists doing in Nepal?" They have named themselves, obviously, after Chairman Mao. But on the other hand, rumor has it China is supporting this movement, and why should that be a surprise? Look at all the puppet governments the US has helped to install. Superpowers seem to have a need to support those who agree with their adgenda. The Nepal Maoists ran a campaign in Nepal for many years, and there was much fighting that happened between the Maoists and the Nepal gov't. Thousands of lives were lost on both sides. Bombs were detonated and many children filled orphanages, such as the one we help out in Kathmandu, Buddhist Child Home. But a few years ago, the Maoists and the other Nepal parties agreed to a peace treaty of sorts, and the Maoists participated in elections and won the majority of seats in their Congress. The King was asked to leave the country and he did. No more Nepal Monarchy-no more calling it"the Kingdom of Nepal."It is now "Nepal." Maoist have had majority seats in the Congress now and yet the competing parties that seek to rule Nepal cannot agree on what kind of government to have. The past year has seen heightened arguing and general disagreement among many of the parties and no constitution can be voted on with agreement from all. So that brings us up to today.

The Maoist party in Nepal has been saying for awhile that they are tired of dealing with the other leaders, including the current prime minister, who's name happens to be Prime Minister Nepal. They are majority party, holding the most seats in their Congress, and they feel they have not been allowed to create the constitution as they would like it. PM Nepal says Nepal will be a democracy, not a communist state, and that is what the people want. Maoists feel otherwise and so the conflict has reached a head.

As in all Govern. disputes, it is a complicated situation and I encourage anyone interested in finding out more to go online and look at all the past and much better written articles on Nepal's Maoists. National Geographic did a very comprehensive article on the "civil war" a few years ago and had a young female Nepali Maoist solider on the cover. Women in the villages have embraced this movement as their rights have always been as second class citizen under past regimes. The Communists promise education for all, including girls, an honest government and jobs. You can see why the poor cling to these promises and hope the Maoist can help them have a better quality life then the past.

Our school construction has come to a standstill as Don and Danny were whisked away by friend Rajan, who felt it safer for them to return to the city of Kathmandu and their safe haven with the Karma family. "The air is electric with the energy of the Nepalis pouring into the city for the big protest and I can smell the potential for strikes and riots in the air" says Danny in a recent email. "Today we watched, from the top of Karma's house, a long line of hundreds of Maoist in red shirts, every fifth one carry a large red flag with the hammer and sickle symbol. They were quiet and orderly as they march below us, bringing all traffic flow to a standstill." As the Maoists pour into Kathmandu, they are taking over schools to live there and stopping traffic with their marches and "parades." It is political postering to show their force in number right now, but can easily explode if the political leaders give the word on either side. The Nepal gov't has the army on standby and Danny reports that solders and police in riot gear are everywhere, giving the city a false sense of control and tense watchfulness from all.

Right now, the world is a witness to a new Nepal going through a precarious dance to determine its future-and furthers my feeling that education is the most powerful weapon of all. Educating people and helping them become literate means they can read, study and learn of other countries and attempts at democracy -and it is a reason we are a NGO-as the "N" for NON-government-what do we know about who is right and what government is best for a country and its unique culture, people and resources (or lack thereof). But I can stand firmly behind education and feel more strongly then ever that building a school in the village of Darhka is the right thing to do no matter the outcome of Nepal's struggle to recreate a better way of governing themselves. Meanwhile, Don may have to walk to the airport if traffic is halted by the strikes, but he is determined to fly out tomorrow, May 2, the day the Maoist promise to flex their muscle and show the world they are to be taken seriously. Om Nama Shiv vaya OM!

Brownies Into Schools

Nelson Madela said "Education is the most powerful weapon we have today". I also remember reading once, "Someday the military will hold bake sales, and schools will get all the funding they need," or something to that nature. Both quotes resound in my head as I wake up this morning to wonder what Dan and Don are doing in the village of Darkha, as they welcome the same sun, in the beauty of the Himalayas. Education is such a powerful tool. We are trying to bring literacy to a simple village in Nepal. How is that going to make a different in the world? What did Greg Mortenson feel as he awoke so many mornings, frustrated and wondering how he was going to bring education, and literacy, to the people of the remote Karakoram Mountain range of Pakistan. But we are all big believers in this power of literacy and being able to read. This past week has confirmed by feelings of this being the right path to pursue. First, our friends Kathy and Eric put much effort into finding out how to ship 6 plus boxes of donated books to our still fledgling school in Darkha. Eric greeted me the morning I drove the books over with great energy and excitement: "The kids are going to love these books!" The kids will be amazed to have these books, I added, because when I visited the village, there were no books. I know from my travels there that any book, even a worn paperback, is a thing of mystery and awe. And so I look forward to greeting these books at the other end, after their voyage across the seas to help load them onto a bus painted with colorful symbols of Shiva, the Ganges River flowing from his head and a cobra around his neck, and then transfer the boxes on to a jeep taxi, the driver with scarf wrapped multiple times around his face to shield it from dust and sun, then to porters, and hopefully the many donkeys who carry supplies up the steep trials to finally our school-being built on the slopes as I type this.

Also news-Danielle's bake sale!! An amazing success, my dear friend who put on a bake sale this past week to raise money for HANDS in Nepal, reported dozens of baked goods sold, as well as some Nepali handicraft items and donations collected. Greg Mortenson, are inspiration and author of Three Cups of Tea and Stones Into Schools started a service learning project a few years ago to support his school building in Pakistan and Afghanistan called "Pennies For Peace." Along those lines, Danielle has been collecting change and now the bake sale for an amazing contribution to our efforts. So many Namastes to her and other teachers who have been supporters because they too believe in education for all-Julee Bauer, at my school, had her children bringing in change so that we could buy and send with my husband hackey sack balls, and then in addition contributed money she got through a grant. Her students outlined their hands to make beautiful books to also send, in fact, I recently received photos from my son as he worked with children in Nepal outlining their hands and writing back to the California students. Brownies into schools, Hands across the borders! Cultural Exchange over the Himalayas! It makes my heart sing to think of all the cool work being done as we build a simple three room school house with a tin roof on the slopes of a remote part of the world-yet it is reaching, and touching, so many. Thanks, Greg!!!