45 Minutes in Nepal. A Saga.

It started early last week.  The project I'm currently working on is in a remote part of India.  So far, its been one challenge after the next.  Scheduling anything with the rural health workers has been near impossible, who all have a busy schedule and often overwhelming responsibilities.  All week, we attempted to plan for an all day training session on our mobile phone software for them as a job aid.  Due to a Polio vaccination campaign that lasts for a week every month - which was changed at the last minute - our only choice was last Friday.  

By late Tuesday, it appeared that we were successful in scheduling Friday with all the government players.  By Thursday, we discovered that Friday morning had been rescheduled for a common immunization day, and we would have to settle for Friday afternoon.  Friday morning, we discovered the immunization day was canceled, and the whole day was ours if we had planned ahead for it.  We arrive in the village at noon.  Since the immunization day was canceled, our workers are spread throughout the village, and it takes a coordinated effort of calls to track them down and encourage them to come for the training.  We start by 1245 - and things proceed smoothly.  Just after 2pm, however, we get a call from the health ministry instructing us to release half of the women from the training so that they can open bank accounts, the newest, highest priority of the day.  Such is life in India.

During the afternoon, as my colleagues salvaged the training with the remaining rural health workers, I stepped outside to do a little bit of work.  The limits of my Hindi were limiting how much I could actually contribute to the training.  Our driver came and sat next to me, cranking away on my laptop, watching my fingers dance away on the keyboard.  He asked for my passport picture.  People here are always asking for my picture, but I didn't have one on me.  Instead, I reminded him that his phone had a camera on it, and to use that instead.  He did, but clearly wanted a hard copy.  I thought nothing of it, as I then was encouraged to pose with the driver from our partner organization for another set of pictures.

After a long week, the team decided to head to Nepal for the day, with the hope of seeing a different land and perhaps a few mountains.  We arranged for the same driver we had been using all week for early Saturday morning, and headed north for Nepal.  After a quick 2-3 hour drive through a mix of scenic farmland and bustling towns, both with enough people, rickshaws, and cows on or along the 1.5 lane road to draw constant honking from the driver. (to warn them of our approach, around blind corners, to pass, to scare them out of the middle of the street - the horn here is annoyingly useful.)

At the border, we got out of the car and had a quick exchange with the border guards in Hindi.  We didn't catch all of it, but were able to proceed without further delay - no visa, or a stamp in the passport.  

The first thing that became obvious in Nepal, was the lack of our car horn.  As I looked around, the serene farmscape remained, but the plethora of people, animals, and things was reduced.  It was calming and peaceful.  We soon arrived at a large damn, where snow melt from the Himalaya is controlled for the farmland across the border in India.  Every few years, it floods and kills a number of people.  At this time, the water was extremely low, and we walked alongside on an elevated dike, into the misty morning, away from the road, and along the streambed.  Peaceful.  The dramatic drop in population density was overwelming.  

After about 45 minutes, we got back in the car to continue our adventure into Nepal.  This is where the story gets interesting, as our driver turns back towards India and crosses over the border.  We start asking what is going on, if there is a problem, and he mysteriously says no, that he is taking us to a market in Nepal where we have to go around in India for a bit, and that the car doesn't have the proper registration to go further into Nepal, hence the quick and painless border incident.  

Here is where the lack of Hindi is frustrating.  Our driver probably understands more English than he conveys, but doesn't speak it.  One coworker is an American of Indian descent and speaks Gujarati - a dialect from further South - and is our Hindi speaker.  Her Hindi is good, but not perfect.  The other coworker and myself are working on our language skills, but we are at about the level of a 3 year old.

Soon enough the car pauses and parks.  The driver says that the market is just on the other side of the border, and that we should walk.  Here again, we cross the border with no issues, and proceed to a run-down border town with a few shops.  Clearly no tourists come here.  Especially American ones.

We press the driver for more information, as the day is still early and our agenda of things to do in Nepal is still full, it is increasingly apparent that his own, separate agenda, is just about complete.  A crowd gathers as we (our female Indian colleague) talk to him about our options.  Crowds usually gather around us when we stand still for too long in this part of India, so we are unphased.  The driver, however, starts walking to ditch the crowd, and tells us that he doesn't have a driver's license, and that is why we can't go further into Nepal.

Right.  No driver's license.  From our hired driver. 

Granted, he looks a little young, and is not the most professional, but does a good job driving.  As the larger picture starts to come together, we walk back to the car and discuss our options.  Clearly our intended foray into Nepal is not going to happen.  The driver shows us his driver's license.  It was printed in 1989, is tattered and torn, and has a picture in it that is clearly not him.  The birthday printed on the license is 1978.  The driver is 19.  He pulls out his passport picture and places it over the other picture.  He explains that even though he could change the picture, he won't be able to change the birthday, or enough other information to make the fake legit.  If I give him my passport picture, however, we could quickly make a fake, and then switch spots for the brief instant across the border.

Uhuh.  Our hired driver wants my passport picture to make a fake driver's license of me so that we can cross into Nepal.

After brief consideration - we decide better.  We head back south to the town we are working in, deflated and frustrated.  Clearly this is why he asked for my passport picture yesterday, as we had inquired about the possibility of driving to Nepal over the weekend.

So I've been to Nepal.  It was peaceful and calming.  It was a fantastic 45 minutes.

Like a Sore Thumb

It took a lot of effort this morning to go for a run. First run in the rural village I will be for the next few weeks. It was a cold morning and my bed was quite warm. Most of all, it was overcoming the thought of sticking out like a sore thumb that was the hardest.

Intense curiosity, at a distance.

Like a zoo, except I'm the object of interest.

When I returned from my run, hot and sweaty, even though the temperature outside was still chilly, I paused to stretch outside of the hotel. I had passed a man standing on the street opposite the hotel, who incomprehensibly watched me approach, stop, and stretch. I looked up after a few minutes and realized he had turned, to face me, and continue watching my strange ways. I kept stretching. I could see him inch a few steps closer with each passing minute, but never getting too close - a cautious distance from a wild animal. The next time I looked up, a gathering of about 5 children had also stopped to watch, also at a safe distance.

I was still sweating, beads dripping down my face, pooling on the ground below. I wore running shorts, running shoes, and a long sleeve top. It was cold enough outside that there was probably steam rising from my head. The observers were covered from head to toe, ready for a winter storm. I finished stretching and greeted the crowd in Hindi... namaste.

As if the trance was broken, the man inched towards me and started speaking in broken English. He asked what I was doing here and for how long I would be in town. He works on a renewable energy powerplant in a nearby flood-stricken area.

I sometimes struggle with the stares and attention. Its not easy to stand out. It takes backbone and a cognizant effort to ignore the faces of passersby and pretend not to notice. Its not personal.

If a man with purple skin and a space suit walked down the street, I would probably stare too. Out of curiosity. Out of an interest in why he was here, in my town, and where he came from. And I would hope that I too, would have the guts to approach him and to ask him about himself.

The Innovative Indian

I don't have a personal hatred towards pennies.  They have never really done me any wrong.  I always get a little kick out of finding one on the ground.  However, I never have much use for them, and for that reason alone, I know a number of people who despise them.

I've noticed a few things in India, and one of them is how innovative things can be.  Take the penny for example.  In India, one US Dollar is approximately 50 Indian Rupees.  There are lots of small coins around, however in India, they can be worth something - depending on the person.

Recently in a coffee shop, when I went to pay, I was told that there were no 5 Rupee coins - the equivalent of about a Dime.  Slightly taken aback, I was handed a small, 10 piece packet of Orbitz gum instead.  The more I think about this - the more brilliant I think it is.  This company has taken what many consider a neglectable amount of money and have found a way to improve the value of it for all parties involved.  Although the majority of Indians would not consider 5 rupees worth anything, the type that would buy a cup of coffee in an establishment like this (100-300 INR for a cup of Joe, depending how fancy) would not.  

Instead of being given a piece of metal they would just as well cast on the street, they are instead being given a packet of gum - which after a cup of coffee, can be a welcome commodity.  A nice surprise, it is likely viewed to the customer to have more value than the 5 Rupee piece.  To the coffee company, the actual cost of the small packet of gum is likely less than 5 rupees.  In effect, they are making money by not giving out the full amount of change, and are probably making people happy about it.

Brilliant!

Or, I could be delusional, and that specific coffee shop might have run out of small change, and didn't want a lot of caffeinated, pissed off people running around town spreading rumors about the company for not having the foresight to carry enough small change.

Either way, Im caffeinated, I've got a little extra kick in my step AND my breath smells good!