2. Project report

I had made such lofty plans in the last report to "really" start working from Monday, but I was immediately held back by Nepal. Making plans is not so easy here… "Simone Sister, what do we do on Monday?" "Uhm – you go to school!?" "No, Monday is a Holiday!" –   Again? Friday was a holiday, then it was the weekend – and now there's another holiday? The kids think it’s great, so that's fine. I brought face paint from Germany, which German children love, so my Nepali kids can't find it silly at all. So, I’m starting the project "Project Day" and asking for a glass of water on Monday morning. I get very skeptical looks from Kami, but that's okay. I invite the first child into our learning room. He would like a butterfly painted on his cheek; I refuse to do a dragon. My painting skills can definitely be improved, and I can’t do dragons. But the butterfly is well received, and Tsering Dolma beams. Happily, she goes back out to play, passing a whole bunch of astonished children's eyes; they have never seen anything like it! But they all think it’s great, and now it’s getting loud outside the door. There’s a wild discussion about what can be painted on cheeks: tigers, dragons, or a nice mandala? Uh, no. I paint butterflies, flowers, or fish; I might agree to snakes, but that’s it. The kids are satisfied with me and beam competitively. I’m busy for over an hour painting on children's cheeks, and then everyone is done. And suddenly Pramod appears, our new children’s house manager; he would like a blue flower, please. I am impressed, pleasantly surprised, that he is not too silly for this fun. And behind him stands Dawa, asking for a yellow butterfly. Wow!! Sure, for me, it will be a red snake. The children scream with excitement, and Pramod takes the whole bunch and goes for a little walk; this really does the children good. At the end of the day, the children are very happy and all lie in bed with clean, washed faces.

The next day will be very exciting for me: we drive down into the valley to visit a secondary school and have an appointment with the principal of the public secondary school. I want to compare it to our private school in Kathmandu. Moreover, Pretti is now attending school here. She fell ill in Kathmandu last year, and after a hospital stay, her parents brought her back. The school has recently acquired a bus that picks up children from a specific route, and Pretti's house is on this route. Would that be something for us? And, even more urgently, how is Pretti doing? Is she really attending school? There are countries where the need is so great that children are seen as goods or simply as investments; at her age of 10, the girl would be old enough to contribute to the family income, and I simply must ensure that this is not the case. 

The principal of the school welcomes us very warmly; his English is so good that we can greet each other fluently without Dawa’s translation help. I try to engage in the flowery Nepali greeting and find myself doing quite well, certainly much better than last year! I remember Dawa's very dissatisfied looks last year when we met, for example, with the district mayor, and my friendly words were complemented by Dawa’s long speeches. This year, his expression is only a little critical ☺️. But then Pretti appears at the top of the balcony, sees me and shouts "Simone Sister!!" and runs towards me. I interrupt the conversation and run to meet her – not good. I return to the principal and apologize, "I didn’t see her for a year and was very worried when she fell sick – do you mind?" The principal lets me go, and Dawa stands beside me, internally rolling his eyes. I run to her and am thrilled to hold the child in my arms again; she is attending school and is, otherwise, in good condition. She takes my hand, and we walk a few rounds; she tells me about her family, the school, and her new friends, and asks about my children in Kathmandu and Khamjing. With the promise to visit her every year when I am here, and a strong plea to contact Dawa with any kind of problems, I send her back to class and find my way back to the conversation with the principal. I like the school quite a lot, but it only goes up to the 10th grade. It was good to see her, especially because of Pretti. On the way to the motorcycle, I am still quite moved by the reunion.

"Now we get Baku for you!" Oh yes, during one of our regular online meetings last year, I expressed the wish to acquire a traditional dress, a Baku. We go to the tailor in Syaphru and first choose a fabric. In the end, I have two to choose from; one is beautifully densely embroidered with dragons and ornaments. Dawa then interjects, "No Simone, that’s No good, you are a simple girl, take the other one" – uh, excuse me, what!? Is he crazy?? I'm briefly offended, then I remember the Buddhist view of women, which suggests maximum modesty. Alright, the other fabric is nice too. At a later point, I jokingly bring up the difference between simple – plain, even foolish, and modest – humble, which makes Dawa quite embarrassed. My Baku is ordered anyway, and we take a large detour over Lingling back home. The place is known for its lemons; I haven’t been there yet. I arrive in Khamjing in time for the school closing, and I am again surrounded by all my children.

The next day is even more exciting, especially for my children. We drive with six selected children to Dhunche to the district hospital to see the dentist. "Simone Sister, am I going to Dhunche?" Yes, the worst cases are being seen today; the remaining children are scheduled for next Friday. The jeep is not full with six children and a driver, but on the way back, we will take the ENT doctor, an ophthalmologist, and an optometrist with us to check my children's hearing and vision. With that, the jeep is completely full; therefore, Dawa and I ride motorcycles to Dhunche. Upon arrival, the dentist sees me from afar and waves. Yes, I recognize her from last year; we greet each other heartily, and she speaks very nicely to my children. Then, we go into the treatment room; she positions a chair in the usual place – at the head end, to the left, and we begin. One child after another gets teeth pulled, and large cavities drilled. I am honestly a bit horrified by how bad their teeth are. The dentist, however, finds this normal and mentions what I had already discussed with Dawa and Pramod the day before: the high sugar content in the tea. This is being reduced in our children's house; the kids are now getting salted butter tea. This time, however, it doesn’t help, and I suffer for a grueling three hours at the head end next to my children, holding hands and sympathizing with each child. This is an appointment that is very important to me, but that I don’t enjoy attending at all. When it is finally over, the children get to eat something; that they can choose what they want in a "restaurant" is the absolute highlight. Strengthened, the children drive back towards Khamjing, and Dawa and I hop on the motorcycle. Along the way, we stop at a farm by the Trishuli river and take a break with water and sprite. Here, we sit between steep rock walls that catch the sun, by a pool, looking at orange trees and banana palms, and enjoying the warm sun – before we continue up the mountain. At 2200m altitude, I am once again grateful for my merino clothing, which I wear under my jeans and sweater! 

The doctors of the district hospital Dhunche have arrived along with our children and spend the night with us up on the mountain; at 8am the next morning, our children are examined. We have three conjunctivitis cases, and ten children have such clogged ears that their hearing is impaired. How good that we had everything checked! This means for me and Pramod that we now need to give eye and ear drops to 14 children at different times and at different locations. That’s quite a task, and we create a plan. Each child will be told daily for the upcoming week when they are to take which drops. Palmu proves to be a great help here; she knows exactly who’s up next. One eye, both eyes, and also ears? Palmu is informed! 

After all our children are taken care of, the eye clinic moves to the Gompa and holds an outpatient eye clinic here. Patients are screened primarily for cataract surgeries, but all other problems can also be treated or diagnosed for further treatment in Dhunche. So we hit several birds with one stone, and of the roughly 70 patients who presented themselves from Khamjing and the surrounding area, four patients are registered for an operation, three others need treatment in Dhunche, and many new glasses are now available in our village. A complete success! When we then say goodbye to the team, the young ophthalmologist approaches me, "I saw you yesterday in Dhunche – you didn’t recognize me??" Only now do I realize that we met last year in the neighboring village Briddhim at just such a field clinic; she saw and recognized me right away when I visited the dentist. This happens more frequently now, and the phrase "bunter Hund" comes to my mind… not the last time during my stay. 

In the evening, there is still a meeting with the mayor of the place down in the valley; he is responsible for the whole Langtang area. I have various questions and suggestions regarding the school and am moderately successful. We hear a little about the politics in Kathmandu; it isn’t much different in Syaphru. Nevertheless, I found the weekend very successful, and Dawa and I race back up the mountain at full speed – after formally bidding farewell to the mayor – I reckon we have managed 10-15km! 

On Sunday, I take the children to school; Pramod went to Dhunche to get the necessary medicine; afterwards, Dawa and I walk to the neighboring village Briddhim for a cup of tea. On the way, we have a lot to talk about.