Wow. Tihar (known as the festival of lights) at Vinod and Anita’s village in southern Nepal was completely unlike anything I have ever experienced. In the U.S. we’re exposed to a good number of photos depicting people living a traditional village life. Whether it be from National Geographic or T.V. ads asking for donations we see flashes of a life in South America or Africa or Asia that we cannot comprehend. We see the villagers cutting grass by hand or cooking dinner over a wood and cow dung fire or making a religious drawing with a mysterious white liquid on the dirt and we feel removed like that has nothing to do with us. Most of us forget the villager as soon as the picture leaves our vision. All we see are differences.
Living among traditional villagers in a developing country as a friend of the family makes me see those pictures differently. I saw the villagers doing the things depicted in the pictures, but I also helped to cook and eat that dinner and I used the flour and water to draw in the dirt. And I saw them after they did these things…I saw them bantering and laughing with their extended family over the holidays just like I do with mine and I saw my friend’s little nephew acting and playing and screaming and laughing just like I’ve seen my nephew do and I saw the younger generation playing music on their cell phones and the father of my friend stringing up lights for the holiday and my friend braiding her sister’s hair. It’s much easier to find the similarities when you live among people than it is by seeing a picture of them. The differences are still there but they don’t matter as much. I was engaged in the rhythm of their lives and the beat was the same as mine, even if the sound was different.
The journey started with what was supposed to be an 11 hour bus ride, but given that we were in Nepal it turned into a 16 hour bus ride. We drove through the night, my fleeting dreams accompanied by blaring Hindi movies and the stories of Vinod whose favorite line is “Do you want to hear a funny story?” We arrived to the town around 8 in the morning. We were met by Vinod and Anita’s father who took us to the village via his motorbike and a borrowed one., eliminating the 45 minute walk with our luggage.
The house consists of one two room concrete lodging. One of the rooms is used as a bedroom and the other is storage and the house temple. In the back is a mud hut they use to store things and cook in when it rains. There is a pump between the two houses where all of the water comes from and a small dirt yard in front of the concrete house, which is surrounded by a tall wall and is where the family cooks normally. Already there when we arrived were my friends’ father, mother, nephew by their older sister and Anita’s twin sister Sunita who stays at Papa’s House, but had already gone home for the previous Dashain festival. Their paternal grandfather was also around and their paternal grandmother was in the village but she was very sick so I didn’t see her much.
My first day there I helped to cut the vegetables for our dinner and paint the design in the front yard leading the gods to the temple in the house where festival offerings would be laid out for them. Thanks to the plentiful dye in the mixture and the use of my hand as a paintbrush my hand would turn from dark to neon to a sunburnt pink over the next five days. I also prayed with my friends’ mother and realized that I’m not used to sitting cross legged for long periods of time. That night Sunita lit a cross of straw on fire. Holding it in one hand she took me by the other hand and led me half-running, barefoot, through the paths between the houses to main dirt road of the village. Every house had candles burning, and when we got to the main road she handed me the straw to move in circles. The people coming together on the main road, illuminated by fire on the otherwise pitch black night created a magical feeling. We were soon joined by the rest of the family armed with firecrackers and balls of old cloth soaked in oil and attached to a wire which were then lit on fire and twirled. My friends’ nephew, Puru, was especially exited by the sparklers.
The next day was cow day of the festival where they honor the cow goddess Lakshima by putting tikka, or dye, on all of the cows. Anita and her mother also made people figures on the ground out of cow dung and decorated them with flowers. Later Vinod and Anita and I walked to the town where the bus dropped us off to buy vegetables for the next few days. The market was probably the most colorful place I had ever been. It was noisy and busy and I was the only white person in the entire town. Everyone stared at me like I was the first foreigner they had ever seen, and for a lot of them I probably was. Places like this don’t draw the tourists. I have never felt so many eyes on me in my life. It was funny at first but over time I grew increasingly uncomfortable. It was kind of like being the main attraction at a zoo. I felt much better when Vinod and Anita took me to a little shop and surprised me by buying me and armful of green plastic bangles. We walked back to the village and a little later their older sister came with her daughter. The one bedroom was filling up…
Monday was brother’s day. In the morning Vinod took me on a tour around the village. He showed me the one government run school of the village that was very run-down, and on vacation for the holiday. He showed me where the lower-caste bamboo cutters lived and worked, and we saw a man making a basket out of bamboo. He also showed me where the higher caste lives and we ran into one of the richest woman villagers who used to feed Vinod and his sisters when their parents were too in debt to do so. This was followed by a touching brother’s day ceremony where Vinod got tikka and garlands from his three sisters and Puru got tikka and garlands from his little sister Hassina. Then Vinod and Puru gave gifts to their sisters and touched their feet in respect, the way they do with their elders as a greeting. That night when it got dark Vinod and I went on the roof to watch the stars. He started telling me about his life, a story which is one of the most heartbreaking and hopeful stories I’ve heard. The things his family has had to overcome are incredible.
The next day was our last in the village. In the morning Anita took me to visit some of her friends in the village…an experience that would have been much more rewarding if I had better Nepali or knew any Mathili, the native village language. Some people spoke broken English, but our conversation was limited to “What is your name, how are you, and do you like the village?” Still, it was fun to meet the different villagers. Then we took some family photos and my friends’ father took us all via ox transport to catch our night bus back to Kathmandu. When we got back I gave Vinod and Anita and Sunita the pictures I had taken over the five day trip. They were very grateful because for them these were pictures of family and home that they wouldn't have otherwise had the means to capture. To you the pictures may look like just another village in a developing nation but to me and Vinod and Anita and Sunita they represent memories that will stay with us forever.
so colorful. this is beautiful. ahh TARYN this is powering me through finals.
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