"I bought some milk today for a lady and her baby," a nasal-toned Foreigner said to her friend at a cafe in Boudha, where I sat trying to load my gmail. "Oh, I don't give money to the beggars," said her friend, "because then they just bother you more and you can't get rid of them." I had to smile to myself, this being my fifth year coming to Nepal as a social worker, and helping my son with his small NGO, "HANDS in Nepal." I did not sit in judgement of either of the attractive young ladies, who not only had enough money to buy expensive air tickets to this far-away kingdom in the Himalayas, but also were wearing stylish jeans, nice shoes and expensive watches. (click here to read more)
What was a few rupees to them, which could mean a poor beggar could eat something today? I realized I was seeing them more like a street person would and less like the spoiled American I am. Spoiled meaning we are blessed beyond believe in the amount of material possessions and comforts we have in the good 'ol USA. Even though buying milk for a baby is a big scam here in Nepal (and India) it does help the woman by giving her some money she otherwise would not have.
My friend Rajendra might disagree with me on giving money to beggars. He once reprimanded me as I dropped some rupees into the begging bowl of a monk standing in front of the great Buddhist stuppa in Boudhanath. "He can work you know," he said. "But he's a monk," I said, but something clicked in my brain about that. "They have so much money in the monasteries," Rajendra replied. I had to agree, almost every hilltop in Nepal is topped by an ornate, gold-frosted temple of some sort.
Rajendra is an amazing young Nepali professional who knows more than I about the consequences of life on the streets, and the molding of oneself into becoming someone or no one. He became someone, despite a very rough beginning of an abusive childhood, running away from his village home to try to find a way to go to school in Kathmandu, and living on the streets as a 'rag picker' at the ripe old age of 9 (someone who finds pieces of cloth in the streets or dumps and sells them as rags for a few rupees). "I made enough rupees somedays to eat, and somedays not." Rajendra told me. He also worked as a child laborer in a tea shop (very common here to see children working in restaurants and hotels) but he never begged. Back in those early street days, Rajendra might have been the skinny, hardened raggedy street urchin I would have stepped over and tried not to see. I step over more than I'd like to admit these days when in the Thamel area of Kathmandu, where most of the street kids hang out to beg from tourists.
Street children in Thamel
Rajendra is a success story for sure. I feel so honored to have met him this past trip and his beautiful family of his wife, Preeti and son Loran and adopted son, another street child taken in by Rajendra. Being someone who had to fight his way for every ounce of respect and upward mobility, expecting no handouts and somehow managing to survive an extremely harsh existence of being a child on the mean streets of an impoverished third world city, Rajendra represents to me what anyone can do if you believe in yourself.
He now has a company making documentaries, holds a college degree in fine arts, has just built a house for his family and has a motorcycle. Educated, smart, with both feet planted firmly on the ground, Rajendra doesn't romanticize his life or the beggars. He knows what it takes to make it here, and it's not hand-outs.
In recent years. I've noticed more and more street children in Thamel, the tourist epicenter of Kathmandu. The children come mostly from villages of extreme poverty. I know, I've been to the villages, and seen how village life is. Although most live a simple and satisfying life of growing and making everything they eat and need, to our standards the lack of electricity, schools, and even roads makes Nepali village life something most Americans could not imagine.
I had asked Rajendra how to best help street children, feeling who could give a more fair and reasonable answer then someone who was once on the streets himself. My education began at a school for children who would be on the streets or worse (yes, it can get worse, as in child slavery), where his American "father," Allan Aistrope, helps support and fundraise for the over 50 children at each of the buildings (one for girls, one for boys). The children get a roof over their heads, hot water showers, clean clothes, healthy meals and school.
Allan has been working for street children in Nepal for a long, long time and supports many programs and organizations that help the poorest of the poor. I encourage you to check out what Allan is doing at: Virtueschildren@hotmail.com
Meanwhile, Rajendra had one other place for me to see. It was a school in a very poor area of Kathamandu that was set up by mostly volunteer Nepali women who were concerned about the children living in squalled and desperate conditions on the banks of the holy yet polluted Bagmati River. These children are the beggar's kids, and most do not go to school, but also beg to have enough to eat.
We set off on a Sunday morning in the rain, to follow Rajendra on his motorcycle, his handsome young son clinging to his father and looking for all the world as if he loved nothing more than being with "Dad."
The Bal Sarathi School in Pingalasthan region of Kathmandu is in a very poor area but one rich in compassion and love. The beautiful lady who runs the school, Mala Kharel, is a volunteer there, as are most of the teachers. They take in about 100 beggar "slum" children daily, to wash, feed and educate the children. School is 7 hours a day, 6 days a week and the children I met looked like they loved every blessed minute of it. Clean, shiny faces, shy and smiling, peered anxiously at me as I asked them their names, their desires and dreams. The school, which I dubbed "Miracle School' in my mind as I got the tour from Mala, is indeed a miracle, and this is the type of giving Rajendra gives his stamp of approval on.
Some of the lucky girls at Bal Sarathi school
It is a place that deserves a blog entry of its own, so stay tuned as I upload photos of the children and the teachers.
As we walked down the muddy road away from the school, waving goodbye to Rajendra and Loran, I thought of how we, in America, have absolutely nothing to complain about!
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