"Danger" and Lumle

Chris, Hannah, and I haven’t done much sightseeing these past few days because the Sam’s House kids didn’t have school on Wednesday or Thursday, so we stayed home to play with them. We played outside a lot, and then on Wednesday afternoon we took them out to a Nepali movie. It was an action film (the title is the Nepali word for danger), but most Nepali films seem to follow a fairly similar plotline, regardless of genre. Even though it was in Nepali, we English-speakers didn’t have much difficulty following the action. My favorite part of any Nepali film is the moment when either the hero or heroine realizes they are in love, and then follows a dream sequence song and dance number featuring the couple. Mina and Maya, two of the older girls, are particularly good at reenacting film scenes, so I hope I’ll get to see their rendition sometime soon.

I caught some kind of stomach bug on Wednesday evening, as Chris assured me I would at some point, but am now feeling much better. We also had some frustration with our travel plans because one of our return flights got canceled, but with some help from Jennifer didi (Chris’s wife, another Sam’s House trustee, and my former academic advisor at UMM) back in the States, we got things straightened out. We seem to be at the point of our trip where the novelty of being in a new culture is beginning to wear off a bit, and now we’ve settled into being in Nepal and at Sam’s House. Not necessarily a bad thing, but just an inevitable part of traveling.

On Tuesday the three of us, along with Dinesh and Manju, one of the Sam’s House children, visited Lumle, the village where Manju lived prior to coming to Sam’s House. I was excited to see what a rural village is like, since we’ve spent all our time so far in the city. After a 30-minute hilly and winding taxi ride, we arrived in Lumle. As soon as we got out of the vehicle and Manju recognized where we were, she took off without us knowing where she went. The village is on a hillside and the houses are all surrounded by tall corn and other crops, so it was a little hard for us to get around. I was even a little worried (and probably irrationally so) that we weren’t going to find Manju, or that she thought we were bringing her back for good, or who knows what else. She’s a very quiet kid, and she doesn’t speak much English, so sometimes I worry about how she’s doing or what she’s thinking. Of course, we eventually found her at her cousins’ house. Manju came to live at Sam’s House because, for whatever reason, her parents were unable to care for her and she then lived with her elderly grandmother. Her grandmother is very old and frail, and she knew that she was not going to be able to take care of Manju forever, so she decided to send her to live at Sam’s House. Manju’s relatives said that her grandmother was out working in the fields, and they sent someone to go and get her so she could see her granddaughter. We drank some chiyaa and waited. Suddenly Manju’s grandmother arrived. She’s probably in her 60s, but she looks like she could easily be about 90—-Nepali farmers live a very tough life. The look on her face was so, so touching. She was so happy to see Manju. She came to Sam’s House to visit Manju a year and a half ago, but hadn’t seen her since then. There wasn’t a dry eye to be found. Her grandmother insisted that we come back to her house and sit, and she kept telling us thank you, over and over. She was just so grateful. She fixed Manju a plate of rice—-every grandmother in the world wants to make sure her grandchildren are well-fed—-and then brought the rest of us a glass of the most revolting milk I’d ever drank in my life. It came fresh from the cow, tepid, with a little dirt and grass mixed in for flavor. Of course, we couldn’t refuse, and I was touched that she would offer us something as valuable as milk to drink. We listened to her tell us about how Manju used to take care of her, and how she gets lonely now without her. It is amazing to me how she knew that Manju was much better off at Sam’s House, though—-this is just the way things have to be. I can’t think of a more unselfish action than giving up your child (or grandchild) to give them a better life. Manju’s grandmother lives in a tiny, one-room house with corrugated tin walls. The entire house is about as large as an American bathroom or walk-in closet. I’m sure that it was extremely difficult for her grandmother to earn enough money from farming to support both herself and Manju. After we sat and talked for a few minutes, it was time for us to leave, which was heartbreaking. A bus ticket into Pokhara to visit Sam’s House would probably only cost a few U.S. dollars, but it would be a huge amount of money to a rural Nepali like Manju’s grandmother.

Throughout the trip Chris has been telling Hannah and me stories about the circumstances from which many of the Sam’s House kids came, but seeing how happy and well-adjusted they are now, it’s almost hard for me to believe him. Our trip to Lumle was a good reminder of just how far the kids have come, and just how necessary orphanages like Sam’s House are.