Katie Hilborn: Modeling, Spoke Modeling, Acting, Public Speaking

Katie Hilborn

Modeling, Spoke Modeling, Acting, Public Speaking

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A Himalayan Delivery; from a Writer's Eyes

A Himalayan Delivery; from a Writer's Eyes

The second half of my journey through the Himalayas bring me below the looming Annapurna Range without an ounce of technology. All my camera batteries, were as if, the life had been completely drained. Could it be the Universe trying to tell me something because for the first time in a long time, I was forced to write. Documenting my experience through prose was something I had not done in years. 

As I write, I sit at the top of the mountain ridge on a narrow cobblestone pathway with a steep drop on one side. Above me welcomes the uninterrupted apex of the snow capped Himalaya while below, across the ravine lay stairs of rice paddy fields in long column terraces intermingled with columns of trees. From the bottom, the sound of rushing water echoes off the canyon wall. I can't see the river from my vantage point, but I imagine sheer cliffs hugging large boulders that have intermittently fallen many a century ago.

A Nepalese girl walks down our stair. She has Tibetan eyes, rosy cheeks, and a blue and maroon stripped shawl over her shoulder.

"Namaste Biani," I say. She replies the same, then disappears within three steps over the ridge on our cobblestoned path.

I feel like I'm sitting on a stairway for giants watching them ascend up the terrace, into the mist while continuing the 18,000-feet more to their kingdoms in the clouds. We, the human is nothing but an ant; making our way over our own mountains and stairways.

I'm briefly interrupted by an elderly man carrying a basket on his back that is strapped to his forehead.  Dipak, my Nepalese brother whom I've been hiking with, speaks with the man.

"He carrie Roxy, local wine," Dipak informs.

"Ask him how many kilos," I inquire.

After a minute of calculation, he exclaims, "60 kilo Katie." The teahouses buy a great deal of Roxy for their foreign trekkers who will gladly pay top dollar after a long day's hike.

"Where does he walk from Dipak?' I say quite curiously.

They continue to discuss further in Nepali.

He departs every morning from the bottom of the mountain at 5am, walking continuously up steep stairs until he reaches his destination at 11am in the village of Ghandruk. The tea house gives him one glass of Roxy and pays him 250 rupees ($2.50) for his effort.

The frail man is 5-feet-tall.

Dipak gives him a cigarette and as the old man sits on the stair-ledge with an eternity behind him, Dipak crouches over to him and lights the tobacco. He chats closely with him speaking softly in Nepali. I imagine they are speaking about life and hardships, but also reflecting on the joys of living in this beautiful heaven of the Himalayas.

"Dipak, what are you talking about?" I eagerly solicit. 

He stands up with a laughing smile. 

"Oh this man he all the time walking 60 kilos. So all the time drinking Roxy. So Katie, what'cha ya do? I say. This man, drinking and walking big problem for you! Even-ing time big problem!" he explains.

Dipak's good heart is trying to convince the man to stop drinking while walking the great Himalaya.

He continues.

"Then he say he has wife; and son in Dubai; and three daughters stay in home. So he working all the time money for family. So Katie, what'cha ya do? I say." 

I'm saddened by this man's tribulation. I've just finished walking six hours along this same path with no load upon my back. It's beyond arduous; the up-and-down thousands-upon-thousands of stairs, climbing ridge-over-ridge. I couldn't imagine doing what he does, every day, at his age, for $2.50. 

I think life can sometimes be quite egregious. Observing others can allow one to reflect upon their own struggles realizing that we really have none in comparison. 

Dipak stands up from his crouching position and informs me that it's time to leave.  I want to take a picture of this moment because it has been so special for me, and I'm saddened by my failing equipment.

I'm going to try to turn on my camera, I protest.  Pulling all the energy I can muster from my surroundings, I place my hands one last time on my camera. A surge flows from my fingertips.

It turns on; just long enough for one solo picture of Dipak and the old man.

Then, just as the wind carries away the moment, the camera shuts down and the man too picks up his basket and disappears over the ridge to continue on his journey.

We came to buy a cow; they wanted a school

We came to buy a cow; they wanted a school

How a 23-hour bus journey, an idea lost-in-translation, and a bout of E.Coli helped shape one backpacker's destiny and transformed an entire village.

40-minute walk to the village school site.

Blog originally written August 2011.

Traveling through the Himalayan foothills at night by bus might not be the safest method of travel.  The road ahead is windy, it’s generally safe to assume a 500-foot drop is on one side, and the only thing you can see are the headlights from an oncoming bus as it swerves back into its own lane to avoid a near-miss collision.

Though dangerous, night travel was inevitable as our twenty-hour journey brought us from the Himalayan foothills to the jungle lowlands near the Indian border of Nepal.  As we stepped off the bus, the calidity began to stir-fry our brains as a single sweat bead rolled off our foreheads.  It was like an oven – hot and miserable, hundred degrees with humidity, and miles from anything remotely considered civilization.

The villagers of Udaypur welcomed us with open arms and a nicely prepared curry.  Their wood huts on stilts, above water-filled rice fields added to the Asian ambiance and intrigue. 

They were happy to see us, as my Nepalese friend brought me with to see how I could help.  After purchasing cows to give families a form of sustainability months prior, I thought this was a perfect way to spend the remaining dollars in my fund.

So you’ll understand my surprise when all they wanted was a school.  My plan had obviously been lost-in-translation.

"Um Dipak, why exactly do these people think I am here?" I asked inquisitively. "Do they think I am coming to build a school?'

"Oh yes yes Katie, just see how we help. No worries," he replied nonchalantly.

But the fact remained that they indeed wanted a school.  They had enough cows to last them a lifetime.   The $500 that I brought with for the purchase of a cow was erroneous. Had I traveled all this way for nothing?

I was disappointed, but ate my curry dinner that was so eloquently prepared. The following morning I woke with a bout of E.coli. Nothing is more enjoyable in life than being plagued with a stomach bug in 100 degree heat with no toilets or running water.

I was miserable and nauseous; I could not even pull myself up from the straw bed.  The outhouse in the back did not suffice my wailing woes.

But even still, the villagers insisted that I make the journey to the school site the following day. I was under the assumption that this would just be a preliminary visit.  Little did I realize, they had planned a ceremony in my honor that I was meant to attend.  We made the 40-minute journey by foot crossing through rice plantations to the school site.

Fainting under the jungle sun shortly before ceremony

I was in no condition to do much of anything. The walk was long and laborious. Fainting under the jungle sun five minutes prior was really my last draw.  Going in-and-out of coherency during the entire walk to the school, I questioned my decision in coming to the village and immediately wanted to go back to the comforts of Kathmandu.

Upon standing back up, I saw the hundred or so people from a distance.  

“Oh my God! Quick, full power,” I exclaimed as a little Nepalese lady fanned my face and put my hair into a pony tail.

I could not believe I was walking into a ceremony when I couldn’t even stand on my own!  I splashed some water on my face to shake it off and on we went… with a person helping me on each arm.

Unexpected ceremony from the villagers

They adorned us with flower necklaces and each child presented a gift. I felt like I was hallucinating from a combination of the heat, the illness, and the fact that I was in the strangest place and participating in a ceremony so foreign to me.  I was ecstatic, but also disappointed that one of the more special moments in my life had to be overshadowed by the E.coli.

I tried to stay collected as long as possible, but eventually ran off the stage to vomit into the bush.  It was all a bit comical, as the children came running over to hover around and the village women were rubbing my back. 

After another two days of rest I was strong enough to start eating again and collected my thoughts.

The village needed a school.  The elders knew it was the only way for their children and generations below them to escape the endless cycle of hard, manual labor. They work the rice plantations from the time they can walk until the day they die. I met with the elders to discuss options.

Meetings with the Village Development Committee discussing options for a school.

I thought I was coming to the village to buy a few cows and was in no position financially or resourcefully to build a school.  I am just one woman, I kept thinking to myself.  How can they expect some backpacker like me to build an entire village a school? 

I still did not conceive how this project could be funded, but then, just as serendipitous moments often occur, there was a secret donor amongst our group. My French travel companion gave his Buddhist necklace from around his neck and placed it on mine.  

“It means invincible and whoever wears it is just that. Here is some money to start the school. You come back and finish it.”

The Village Development Committee

It was just enough money for the foundation and enough belief from someone for an idea to be born.  The entire following year back in States will be a long and arduous work of collecting funds for the Koshi Tappu Primary School.

As I hopped on my bus about to head back up into the foothills, the children came running behind it waving goodbye.

“I will return,” I told them. “This is my promise to you.”

Update: Katie returned one year later with the funds as promised.  The school is now complete as of November 2012.

Getting Paid to go on Adventures in Far-Flung Countries

Excerpt from International Living article, original post May 09, 2012

I had been staying in the tranquil Nepalese tourist town of Pokhara for a month when a travel writing assignment came in.  It involved researching retirement in Nepal - and I needed to find some expats.

As I sat drinking my morning chai at a lakefront breakfast joint, I wondered where all the Westerners were hiding.  I had seen only a handful since I arrived, and they all seemed to be just passing through. Then it dawned on me - sitting there, across the lake perched high on a lush green ridge next to a magnificent white Buddhist stupa, sat an ornate Newari-style guesthouse.

I had heard that it was owned by an expat from England who made Nepal her home after visiting the country for 20 consecutive years.

"Perfect," I thought.

Now all I had to do was figure out how to get there.  The most common route was apparently to hire a canoe and paddle across the lake, but with my deadline approaching, I needed a faster route. I would need to rent a moped.

To continue reading, full article can be found at International Living.

Nepal Mob & Barricade Footage

Nepal Mob & Barricades

*This blog is the accompanying footage for a previous blog, found here.

I returned with funds in Summer 2012 to finish the school I started one-year prior. While driving to my school site in Nepal, I encounter a Banda (strike). Assassination attempts on political leaders occurred that morning.  The leaders barely survived, and at the time of filming, the outcome looked bleak. Unaware of the reasons for protest, I face several mob barricades, and plea with locals to let me pass.

You Give Me Child; I Give You Organ

Little girls are taken from their family villages and sold to India for prostitution.

A few weeks ago I traveled to Kathmandu with one purpose; to set up meetings with INGOs and make an inquiry at the U.S. Embassy regarding Nepal's 'orphan problem.'

I met my American friend in Kathmandu (she is furthering her nursing skills at a hospital near Chitwan National Park), and we both ventured down to the U.S. Embassy.  When I attended the 4th of July party last summer at their park, I was able to speak frankly with a diplomat at a nearby picnic table.  He helped me with my vision to start an NGO.

U.S. Embassy, Kathmandu Nepal

However, entering the U.S. Embassy was far different.  Speaking through a thick glass pane was not what I had hoped for.  Once being able to hide notice of this obstacle, I switched my first impression of 'pretentious' towards the woman to something more flattering like 'genuine' -- which she was.

It must be hard working for an embassy in a 3rd world country that is shifting from a liberation movement into a communist society.  You know all the evils that lurk in the politics, and the corruption, and who's involved.  But!  As a good diplomatic organization, you are bound by ethics to not get involved.  You must stay jurisdictional while sitting in the heart of the vulture's nest.

I was redirected to ask elsewhere.

The problem with orphan homes in Nepal is that they all have children with living parents.  Volunteerism is the biggest money-making scheme in Nepal.

The Money-Making Business of Orphan Homes:

Right, so let's get down to the nit-and-gritty.  There are two pressing issues why children are being placed into orphan homes.

1. The widowed or abandoned mothers are forced to give them up.
2. The children are being taken from their families and trafficked into the orphan homes.

Through my website www.GlobalOrphanPrevention.com, we are aware of the situation surrounding widowed and abandoned mothers.  However, child trafficking is a whole new can of worms.

Following two leads, I contacted two organizations that are involved.  But just like the Embassy, they too cannot get involved on a personal level.  It would jeopardize their current projects going on in the country.

The situation is much deeper than any of us could imagine.  People in power convince small villages to trust them with their children.  The families pay 20,000 Rs (US$233) to send their child to a private boarding school in Kathmandu.  However, once the trafficker and the child reach Kathmandu, the girls are sold to India for prostitution while the boys are taken to Orphan Homes.  The orphan home directors on 'in' on this operation.  They gladly accept the child (even though they fully have knowledge of their living parents).  They accept the children because they can make money off the volunteers who come to Nepal.  They over-charge the Westerner money to volunteer claiming this is for rent, food, and utilities.  This amount is sometimes double or triple the actual cost to run one of these homes.

In other cases, the boys (particularly around the age of 12) are also sold to India, but in this case it's for their organs.

The Street-Children of Nepal:

There are 3,000 street children in Kathmandu.  Most of them are boys.  They have been taken from their families and many don’t remember where they came from. 

Children that have been trafficked from the villages to Kathmandu.

They belong to a ring (think Oliver Twist) and beg for money.  The ring adults keep their earnings.  Any spare change they receive, is used for the purchase of glue (to huff).  This suppresses their hunger pains.  The children are beaten, kicked, and sleep on the sidewalks while loud cars and motorbikes blow smog into their sleeping faces. 

These 3,000 street children have no where to go.

They ask me for money.  I must refuse.  I know where their money goes.  I cannot help you my little boy I think.  But they don’t understand and tug on your shirt and with their tiny voices and plead “Please money, money. Money please. Hunger. Please.”

Perhaps the only three English words they know.

I must stop them.  I know where it goes.  I can’t even buy them milk.  These young ones have figured it out.  The milk is sold back to the shop keepers for 10 rupees less than what the tourist paid. 

My breaking point was two days ago.  I had been having to turn down the children all week, and at this moment, I had just got out of a meeting about the trafficking problem.  My brain was on sensory overload.

A disabled boy with no legs at the knee was pulling his body along the sidewalk.  I was waiting for my street food from the nice couple who make the best Nepalese chapatti wraps in the capital.

Homeless child on the street. There are over 3,000 street children in Kathmandu.

The boy sat at my feet and tugged on my dress.  I stepped away and positioned myself with the street cart between us.

He crawled toward me, dragging his frail body against the hard, black asphalt.  I was cornered completely.  I waited anxiously hoping that my food would be finished.  I kept thinking about how badly I wanted to give this little innocent boy some Rupees.  For God sake, he has the most arduous life.

When social programs and disability help is minimal, if non-existent at all, these children are left to fend for themselves.  So who helps the untouchable?  I fear they too are apart of that same ring.

The tugging was relentless.  It took everything in me to refuse his demand.

It broke my heart to say ‘no’.  I was angry that I couldn’t help him.  Angry that another adult human being made his life so harsh.  Angry that another human being took him from his parents with false promises.

But that’s Nepal.  It’s India too.

Corruption 101:

I’ve never seen this kind of corruption in any of the countries I have visited.  Of course, some degrees of corruption exist in most developing nations, but to me it seems like Nepal has a serious problem.

The varying degrees of corruption can and do change between the continents; but within a subcontinent, the type of corruption seems to follow a pattern, in my opinion.

In East Africa, for example, wildlife refuges, national parks, and protected areas generate a large portion of the GDP.  Gorilla trek in Uganda ($500).  Climbing Kilimanjaro ($1000).  Multi-day safari though Lake Manyara, Ngorongoro, and Serengeti ($350).

The large money coming in from tourism teemed with endless poverty and terrible infrastructure gives wise to the notion that the money is being handled improperly.

Think the Gilded Age.  A Boss Tweed for every country.  It was America at the height of our Industrial Age and it has now fully hit the 3rd world.  If history repeats itself, then perhaps there is a ray of hope for these nations -- but at the moment this is the cold, hard truth.

So yes, to think that corruption does not exist in every facet of this world is naive, but to use corruption to take advantage of the volunteer is beyond precedent.  While Nepal too generates a lot of income from tourism, it's in a far more dismal way.  The orphan home directors are getting rich from the innocence of the good-hearted volunteer.  And who's backing the orphan homes -- several well-known public officials.

Police officer accepting a bribe so we could leave Kathmandu

They have a saying in Nepal when one decides to become a politician; the salary is the bonus.

I can't even begin to tell you the sadness that overcomes the volunteers' face when I tell them the children not only have living parents, but have most likely been trafficked from the poor villages in the far reaches of the country.

It's heart breaking for me as well, but they need to know.  And they need to know alternative solutions on how they can help (solutions I will suggest in a future blog).

Keep a look-out for a continuation looking into the evils of voluntourism, child trafficking, and corruption...