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.
