SUNDAY - FLY TO KATHMANDU (Feb. 15)

After quieting my nerves a bit following the bandh incident last evening, we were going to do a bit more exploration for potential projects. Biratnagar showed so many needs where Rotary could be of assistance to the people there, but the concern for the safety and well-being of the members of future teams is also crucial when making a decision as to where to go and what we might accomplish. I forgot to mention that after reaching Basu's home, we freshened up a bit and then drove back into the city, to a hotel (this one was REALLY nice) where we met some folks from New Zealand and from England, who were traveling to monitor the situation with ShelterBox - several Rotary Clubs from around the world are involved with this program, that originated in the UK, but has spread throughout the world as a means for responding to disasters and providing immediate, if not temporary shelter for victims of disaster. We dined with them and learned of some of the concerns they have regarding the recent projects initiated for the victims of the floods in the area. Thousands of families were displaced and forced to go to makeshift shelters in public school buildings and the like, until ShelterBox could respond with sending literally hundreds and hundreds of tents and other necessary basic implements for survival.

On the 15th, after finishing breakfast, Basu and I went on a quick tour of his factory, which is immediately adjacent to his home. The products include pashmina sweaters, shawls, etc. and are for export throughout the world. Benetton is one of the company's customers. When we had finished the tour, Basu had chosen a sweater for me, and to say the hand is like cashmere would not pay justice to it - it was like slipping one's hand into sifted baking flour, it was that soft. We left the factory and drove (again on back alleys) to the hotel, to pick up the folks from New Zealand and England and off we drove to meet with the local and the district commissioners who oversee all of the ShelterBox projects in the area. We were forced to be there at a very particular time, since the local collector or commissioner seemed to be booked for the entire day, with only one window of opportunity available to us. I listened with great interest as the local collector (the district collector was there for moral support and to spend most of the time on his mobile phone) described how successful the ShelterBox emergency village had been. He indicated that of all of the tents or shelters provided, the ones in these two projects were most highly sought after. He indicated further that clearly one-third of the victims of the floods would be able to return to their own homes, having to do little if any rehabilitation of their homes. Next, one-third would have to do extensive re-building or total new construction. Finally, there was the remaining one-third, who might be forced to remain in the temporary tent villages indefinitely. We would travel and visit one of the sites, and possibly the second. After hearing of some discrimination being exercised against victims from India (not allowing them to take advantage of the village provided by ShelterBox simply due to their ethnic background) I walked away with a good deal of concern. After all, were not these people also victims? Had they not suffered equally? Or because they were from across the river in India, they need not receive care. To me, this is unconscionable.

We left our meeting and drove to the village along the riverbank. When we arrived, again we became the attraction. The victims, who had basically set up a village, gathering some of the tents in neighborhoods, and setting up two large tarp-covered structures to serve as schools, seemed to be doing fairly well. Seeing and meeting them took me back to meeting the victims of the tsunamis when I brought a team with me to south India in April 2005 - almost a blank stare and looking for any source of solace from us, dispensing with barriers and welcoming an embrace from us as they trembled in our arms and sobbed for their losses. The propane cook stoves had almost all been sold by the people in the village and replaced with hand-made cook stoves so much the custom throughout India and now Nepal. In these stoves, the people could burn wood as well as dung patties and they were used to this means of cooking and heating. Some of the tenters had also painted designs on the outside of their tents, using typical local designs, particularly to serve as a welcome sign at the entrances to the tents.

A couple of disturbing things I noted: First, a few tube wells had been dug and were operational. The problem being that people would come and get water and then remain at the well and bathe themselves as well as to wash their clothing and their cooking utensils. Guess where the filthy water went? Right back into the ground to pollute the water from the well; Second, at the location of several of the tube wells, another enclosure (made from bamboo sticks and fabric for walls) was within ten feet of the well - you guessed it, these were toilets! Guess where THAT waste was going? Could it be seeping into the ground and polluting the water supply? Finally, I noted there were a number of these toilet enclosures placed within less than fifty feet from the river - still one more incident of non-education regarding basic hygiene. I was informed these toilets belonged to the Muslims in the temporary village. You see, most of the toilets had been placed side-by-side-by-side at the rear of the village, away from the river. However, these privies were set on an East-West tangent and this was against the practice of the Muslims. Their toilets had to be on a North-South axis, so they took it upon themselves to set their toilets where they pleased, with total disregard for the health of the villagers with whom they lived. On another note, I saw an entirely new design for gathering dung into burnable fuel - these folks did not make dung patties but rather took some wet reeds or grasses and then formed a long stick of dung and then placed them in a criss-cross pattern of a stack, about four feet high, to dry in the sun. Envision a giant Popsicle, made of dung and straw or reeds and you have the idea.

My friend, Basu, seemed to always find a way to become embroiled in a discussion, and usually a heated one at that. We were trying to leave to move onto the next area (since the Kiwis and the Brits were remaining back to make further observations at this village) but there was good ol' Basu finding himself in a bit of a shouting match with some of the victims, who were complaining that some of the tents from ShelterBox were beginning to show signs of mold and further they were too hot. I had noticed that very few of the tents had their vents opened during the time we arrived, about 10:30 in the morning, so how could they possibly avoid being hot throughout the day and the nights? I told the driver to just get the car and to turn it around, and he and the incoming Rotary Club president from Basu's club and I got into the car and honked the horn until Basu arrived and we drove away. We visited another two or three sites, but this one had probably been the best of the lot.

It was nearly lunchtime (2:00 p.m.) and I knew I had to be at the airport in Biratnagar within a short period of time. However, Basu knew differently - he said I only had to be there fifteen minutes ahead of the departure time. I told him I would feel much more comfortable in not pushing the envelope and that I would like to be there an hour ahead of scheduled departure. First, however, we returned to downtown Biratnagar, went to the local Obstetric-Gynecological Hospital. A doctor who is a member of the Biratnagar Noontime Rotary Club - comprised almost totally of women, administers this hospital. I was to meet with as many of them as could gather, to discuss possible projects they might implement, with or without the help of international partners. The women told me of the support they provide to one school. I shared with them information about some of the places I had visited in the last forty-eight hours and suggested they work cooperatively with the other two Rotary Clubs in Biratnagar, and make a serious impact upon those less fortunate. They agreed to look into possibly sponsoring a project, and asking for the assistance of the other two clubs. This would be a switch, since the ladies' club was in its relative infancy, and for them to initiate a project I felt would be very empowering for them. One of the members asked where we were to have our lunch and Basu told them (in between fourteen phone calls in about five minutes, using both mobile phones) we had not yet planned lunch. She indicated we would be her guests at the restaurant owned by her husband, right in the downtown area. We accepted her kind invitation and left the hospital. I know these women will make a considerable difference in this community. They will become the leaders in Rotary here.

We enjoyed some excellent food at lunch - I opted for south Indian food. The husband had decided several years ago to leave his employment and to open a bakery and a restaurant and in two different locations - one in Biratnagar and one in Darjeeling, India, from where he had migrated many years before. The food was delicious and once we were finished, I really implored Basu to have his driver take me to the airport. He agreed and I was off to fly to Kathmandu.

The flight was uneventful, other than the magnificent view of the sunset bouncing off the snowcapped peaks of the Himalayas. So picture this - looking out the left side of the plane, we could see the crimson and mango colors radiating from the setting sun; out the right side of the plane, we could see the mountain peaks awash with a diluted and somewhat muted collection of the same tones. Man oh man, what a blessing it is for me to witness the highest peaks in the world, and in vivid, electric colors.

When I arrived at the airport, I was prepared to meet a member of the Rotaract Club in Kathmandu. I did not have a name or a description, but I was confident with the fact that my bag has a GOOD-BYE POLIO – THANKS ROTARY bumper sticker on it, so anyone familiar with Rotary would spot the bag with me on the other end of the handle. True to my suspicions, a young couple moved forward to me, and welcomed me to Kathmandu. The young man was named Mahesh and the girl with him was named Sabina. Another man, presumably a driver, took my bag and we walked toward a small car in the parking lot and loaded the bag and all of us into the car. On the way to the city, I asked Mahesh how he recognized me, especially since there were other white westerners on the flight. He said, “Mr. Basu told me to look for a big fat white guy and that would be Mr. Elias!” I may be overweight, but I took exception to the description and made a mental note to discuss the description with Basu when I saw him the following day (since he had business in Kathmandu and would fly there on the 16th).