Emotional Whiplash

Sunday, April 7th, 2024 10:32PM Dulikhil, Nepal

Emotional whiplash is probably the most fitting phrase to describe the end of Peace Corps pre-service training.  Somedays, it felt like my life in Panauti could go on forever just as it was.  The trainings were sometimes grueling, yes.  But even when you felt like you couldn’t stand another minute of being lectured at, there were 21 other PCT’s right there with you enduring yet another comprehensive briefing on how not to get yourself maimed or killed in Nepal.  Of course, we could take it out on beers, and my goodness did we ever.  Looking back, there were so many moments of laughter, they far outweighed the moments of misery.  There was a sense of solidarity in our experiences, and we grew to learn from and love one another, for the most part at least. 

I could sit here and write story after story of all the times my cohort had together.  How one volunteer managed to fall constantly, and sometimes you would look behind to find them picking themself off the ground, with not a single obstruction in sight.  I could write about the romantic entanglements between PCVs.   Such instances seemed to increase exponentially in the last 3 weeks of service.  I could also probably write page after page, chuckling all the while, about all the out-of-pocket remarks and actions of certain PCV’s, myself included.  However, in the interest of privacy, and the reputation of the Peace Corps, I’ll be keeping this post limited to my own experiences and reflections. 

A few months is all it takes to grow accustomed to a wildly different culture.  I’ve learned this lesson once before in Thailand, but here in Nepal, it’s almost doubly true.  I have never been to a place where religion and cultural beliefs seep so deeply into the fabric of daily life.  Everything from the clothing to the traditions around death differs drastically from Western culture. 

I used to watch in shock at the dead bodies being burned in the temple square, but now it is just something I expect to see every week or so.

I got used to walking down mountains with goats, and living with chickens.  I also internalized the reality that to eat meat here, the villagers oftentimes have to kill the animal themselves.  People don’t buy meat wrapped in plastic, they feed their animals every day, care for them, and when the time comes, slaughter, rip apart, season, cook, and eat the very thing they had so painstakingly taken care of. 

Meat is a rarity.  With my host family, I would only eat meat about once every 10 days.  It makes it all the more special though, and when I do get meat, I savor every bite.  I sometimes find myself chewing the bones into a paste and eating those too, like a freaking dog.

Speaking of dogs, Charlie, who for the first month and a half would bark incessantly at me whenever I got within a 30-foot radius of the house, is now a friend.  Sometimes, I watch in abject horror as his little red penis slides out of his furry penis pouch when I pet him.  Even though we are friends, I can’t say that I like him.  Little white dogs are almost universally the worst, and he has a bad habit of barking at 4:30 in the morning.

I have also gotten used to the homiesexuality of Nepali men.  It is not at all gay to hold your homie’s hands when walking down the street.  You see it all the time.  Men are much more physical in general with their friends.  I’ll sometimes notice (I guess it would be hard not to notice) that a Nepali man is resting their hand on the upper part of my ass, or if we are sitting next to each other, on my thigh. Although it’s certainly a little strange for me, it doesn’t necessarily feel weird, especially after the fifth or so time it happened.  

What was once a 30-minute absolute slog of a walk up the mountain from Panauti to my home in Dalinchowk became just a regular walk, and I have the calves to show for it.  Except for the fact that I rarely have a chance to show them off seeing as its very improper to wear shorts here. 

I remember the days when I scoffed at the mere notion of eating with my right hand and wiping my ass with my left hand.  Now, it is just something that needs to be done, and to be honest I don’t even think of these actions as being strange anymore. 

Yes, I had gotten used to my village and assimilated into the lifestyle that these people have, but I am even more thrilled to say that the village had gotten used to me. 

My Nepali name is Raju because my English name is a bit difficult to pronounce here.  Near the end of my time there, when I walked through my village, I would hear kids calling out “Raju, Raju!”  My walk into town was filled with familiar faces, and I often get sucked into conversation, and occasionally, invited for tea.  The people of Dalinchowk always greeted me with kindness and warmth, and after only three months of living there, it felt like my heart was being ripped out when I had to leave.

My Nepali family, Santa, Achut, and Ajit Dulal, were the perfect introduction to Nepali culture.  I could do no wrong in their eyes, which was nice because near the end of my time in Panauti I had a habit of arriving later than I should have.  They accepted me as one of their own almost immediately. It took the better part of the month to convince them that I could wash my own plate.  When I went to wash my plate, my Didi would yell “pardina, pardina!!” (you don’t have to), and I learned to say “bujina” to her (I dont understand).  I never got a chance to wash everyone’s dishes though.  The farthest I got was two bowls before my Didi ripped the next plate and the steel wool out of my hands. 

The day I had to leave my family; tears rolled down my cheeks four separate times.  I don’t know why I was so sad to leave them especially considering that they are only are only a short bus ride and walk away from my new home.  I may even buy a bike out here and ride it to Dalinchowk, and that would likely only take a few hours. The age old adage seems appropriate here; “if you’re not sad to leave it behind, then it probably wasn’t that special.”

I had the opportunity two weeks ago to pay my permanent site in Bakunda Besi a visit, and I was shocked and amazed at the experience.  I won’t give too much away, I’ll save it for a different blog post, but I must say that I was impressed.

When I arrived at my new home in Bakunda Besi, I was greeted by an amazingly kind family with a beautiful house.   My room is a bit small, but it has lots of windows and it is on the third floor with access to the balcony.  From my room, I can see Namobuddah monastery from my doorway, the Himalayas too on a clear day.  I can see stepped corn fields, and the family buffalo from the back windows. 

On my second night in my new room, I was watching Shogun (its really a phenomenal show, I highly recommend) when I was overcome with a pressing need to shit.  At this time of night, I have to use the squat toilet instead of the western toilet on the floor below.  I decided to continue watching my show as I did my business, and all went without a hitch until I had to button up my pants.  Seeing as there were shit particle on my left hand, I didn’t want to touch my belt, which makes things difficult.  I fumbled around to button up my pants, but in the process, I dropped my phone.  

The phone fell in what seemed to be slow motion, and then landed on the very edge of the toilet bowl.  It teetered for just over a second, and then I let out a gasp the magnitude of which was fitting for a near death experience as I watched it slide into the ever so slightly slanted toilet bowl.  I could do nothing but see samurai fight on my screen as my phone landed ever so gently onto a pile of my own shit. It was a deeply humbling moment, and I am sure that more humbling moments are going to follow these next two years. 

On April 9^th, I will move into my new home and begin integrating into my community in earnest.  I am excited that I will be receiving a response volunteer in just over a month.  He will be staying for around 12 months working as an IT specialist at the same school.  Apparently, he is an RPCV, so I am sure he will be a valuable resource for me, and I suppose that my training in the Nepali language will make me a good resource for him as well. 

The feeling of being about to embark in this new journey without all my new friends is hard to put into words.  The last week in Kathmandu was a really special time.  It felt like we would just continue like that, having fun in Kathmandu for the next two years.  We got so much closer to each other, and right as that happened, we got sent across Nepal with no hope of seeing each other for the next three months, and minimal hope of seeing each other for the next six.

I think that in the last three months of training, I almost lost sight of why I was training in the first place.  So now, here I am, mere days from starting my new life.  It will be totally different from my experience in Nepal so far.   I may as well be going through airport security in Detroit.

Ready or not though, this next chapter is beginning.  I am told that following weeks will be difficult, but after that, it will be more or less smooth sailing.  Only time can tell.  Regardless, please wish me luck, I am going to need it.