Sherpa Sister

A while back, M from nepaliaustralian asked if I would like to submit a story to the Nepali magazine she writes for in Australia, and they published it in the Sept-Oct issue.

I’ve mentioned my Sherpa host family a few times on this blog, but I never really wrote about the experience in detail, so for the article, I wanted to write a little more about it and the impact it had on me.

Here is what the story looks like in the magazine..

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

FYI, for this post, I abbreviated my host family’s names and the name of their village:

TS = my host sister

PD = her older daughter (3-years-old when I lived with them)

PL = her younger daughter (7-months-old when I lived with them)

SG = their village

 

I planted one stiff foot in front of the other as I struggled along the sandy, narrow path. Ahead, a donkey rounded the bend. Then another and another. They walked with their heads down, the bells around their necks tinkling, as they lugged large sacks of rice. I moved quickly towards the edge of the path to avoid them. The commotion set something off in my stomach because yet again I bent my head over the hill to relieve my clenching guts. I was sick with vomiting and diarrhea from eating god knows what, and the timing was awful. The teachers and students in my study abroad program were on the second day of our trek to SG, the village where we’d be staying with Sherpa and Tamang host families and finishing up our Nepali language classes.

Finally, after a long day, I made it to camp in the graying light. We pitched our tents on a grassy spot between a high cliff to the right and a whooshing river to the left. The next morning my stomach pains had eased, and I set out with the other students and staff on our last leg of the trip.

After two hours of hiking up a steep route, we stepped out onto a flat field of green grass. I soaked in the lavish sunlight. As I looked up, I could see a hill dotted with houses bobbing in a yellow sea of millet. Up we went.

As we hiked, I had time to think about the coming weeks. Was my Nepali good enough to be traveling to a village? My teachers had admonished me for not speaking enough Nepali, not practicing in class. As a shy, quiet person, it hadn’t come easily to me. Although I didn’t know my host family yet, I knew the cultural barriers between us would be great. How would I bridge them without the proper linguistic skills?

After trudging up that last hill in anticipation and trepidation, we all went to one of the host family’s houses for a big lunch. Although I was delighted to be eating solid food again, the heaping mound of rice didn’t sit well with my roiling stomach, so I stepped outside onto the courtyard to get some air. A little girl, about three years old, walked across the uneven stones towards me. She looked at me with a bright smile, eyes full of curiosity. I smiled back. When our meal was over and we were paired with our host families, I found out this little girl was my host sister’s daughter. After I had gathered my belongings, we walked up the incline to my family’s house. When I first saw her, PD had been too shy to say anything, but after we sat down inside her home, she burst into speech, gurgling to me in a mix of Sherpa and Nepali. Although I had just met her, she quickly felt like a younger sister to me. Her sometimes shy but strong-willed nature reminded me of my own.

A few days later, after class was over, my host sister, TS, asked me to come with her to the water tap. She wanted to wash her hair but needed someone to watch her youngest child, PL. Once my didi had nursed her, she lay the baby down on my crossed legs and went off to wash her hair. I had only ever held a baby once or twice before. As her breathing settled, she drifted to sleep, and I felt a growing connection to PL.

The next morning, before class started, I asked TS if I could help her out in anyway. She told me that she was headed out to her fields and that I could come along if I wanted to. I grabbed the scythe she handed me and walked down a little slope from her house to the fields. We worked quietly among the tall stalks of millet, her experienced hands quickly outpacing my clumsy ones. Every once in awhile, she would look up and smile. In the quiet and peace of the early morning, as I worked hard to keep up with my host sister, those barriers of race, culture, and religion seemed distant.

As the days passed in SG, I felt closer to my sister TS but farther from my own family back home. I was only able to talk to my husband twice in the near month I was there, through a crackly and unreliable connection. I knew that after a few weeks in SG, it was time for me to leave for Kathmandu and soon after for the US. But in the time that I lived there, I realized that the distances between us weren’t unbridgeable, and working beside her and being with T and her children made me realize that we didn’t always need words to connect. I had worried so much about what I would say to her or how I would say it, but it, in the end, it didn’t matter.

On the last day of my stay in their village, my didi took out a khada, a yellow scarf given as a blessing to those who are about to travel. As she placed it around my neck, I gave her a big hug. Public displays of affection aren’t very common in her village, so she hesitated, but then hugged me right back.

During the months that I studied abroad, I learned so many new words. Initially I had hoped those words would allow me to become closer to the Nepalis I know. One of the main reasons I went to Nepal in the first place was to learn my husband’s native language which, I hoped, would help me bridge the divide between me and his family. Although words are, undeniably, an incredible means of communication, and they did help me reach out to the Nepalis I’ve come to call my friends and family, words aren’t the whole story. Sometimes they fail and sometimes they’re just not needed.

This past year my husband and I were back in Nepal to be with his family after his mother died suddenly. There were no words in English or Nepali to communicate my husband’s family’s loss. Like I learned with TS, just being there with them, grieving in person, showing them I cared was all I could do.

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More Outdoor Adventures and an Amazing Sunrise

This past weekend we went to Acadia National Park, a large forested area on an island in Maine. It took about 6 hours to get there, and the night we arrived, we weren’t even sure where we were going to stay. Thankfully we were able to find a spot in the park, so at about 9pm at night, in the dark Maine night, my brother, his friend, Tri, and I pitched our tent.

Maine Coast

Our weekend included lots staring at the vast, beautiful expanses of coast, introducing Tri to his first s’mores (not sure if this is a tradition outside of the US, but a s’more is basically roasted marshmallows stuck between two graham crackers with a piece of chocolate thrown in–a camping tradition), and hiking up a nerve-wracking but really fun trail called the Precipice.

But by far the best part of the weekend was the gorgeous sunrise we experienced on Sunday morning. Unfortunately, it was preceded by the worst part of the trip: the rain.

On Saturday night, we had to move to a different campsite that was a bit further from the park. After having a big Maine lobster dinner on Saturday, as we were heading back to the campsite, we heard the pitter patter of rain on the roof of the car. uh-oh. When we got back to our campsite, the rain was still only an infrequent drizzle, so we set up the tent quickly, making sure to secure the rain tarp over the top.

Unfortunately, my brother and I put the rain cover on upside down…which you think wouldn’t be that big of a deal, but the cover had a couple of vent holes in it that were facing the wrong way, so the drips and drops of rain made their way into the tent all night. And since the tarp was already soaked on its exposed side, turning it right-side-up would have just made us more wet. It was a bit of a downer, but I have to admit that falling asleep to the pounding rain above me was a lot fun, and the reward was a clear sky the next morning, perfect weather to watch the sunrise.

I was skeptical about waking up early, especially after I knew our night in the tent would be a damp one. The next morning, however, I woke up on my own at about 5am and went out to use the bathroom. While outside, I looked up and saw the bright, clear stars. Although all I wanted to do was roll back into my sleeping bag and dream of my warm, dry bed at home, I knew I had to go see the sunrise.

Luckily we didn’t have to do any hiking at 5am in the morning…the mountain we were going to (Cadillac Mountain) is accessible by car. Once we got to the top, after we stepped out of the car, Tri and I took walked about 10 feet and started to shake from the cold. Fall weather definitely is settling in around here, especially in the Northern state of Maine. We hurriedly turned around and went back to the car which had our clothing in it. We each wore every shirt, hat, and piece of long underwear that we had brought and then waddled out, in our thick layers, to brave the cold and witness one of the most graceful sunrises I’ve ever seen…

This shot was taken about 45 minutes before the sun rose

This one was taken shortly before the sunrise

And here you can see the first piece of the glowing sun