Nepal, land of the serene

I don’t know who nicknamed our former Chief Executive “the Monk”. The first time I heard it I just thought it was such an apt name for a man whose face is always looking very serene, never looks agitated or fazed by anything, or betrays any emotion. Little did I know that most people look and behave like that in Nepal where he comes from! It hit me as I boarded Qatar airways on my way to Kathmandu from Doha. I was probably one of five women, and one of less than 12 non Nepalese on that flight – not counting the flight attendants.
I wondered why they announced boarding for that flight at least an hour and half ahead of slated departure time. I was soon to find out the reason. That flight is the equivalent of the “chicken bus” to Zimbabwe departing from Johannesburg’s park station. Some 250 men returning home, carry lots of “stuff”. The airline staff – migrant workers themselves – harassed these men no end. Packages were weighed and re-weighed. Solidarity groups were hastily formed, so that everyone could carry home everything they had bought. Nothing could be left at the boarding gate. I volunteered to carry on someone’s package, but I was given such a tongue lashing by a Kenyan “official”, I dropped it hastily. I was about to let rip some vile words, and then remembered the documentary I had watched about the justice system in the Emirates, so I scowled and walked away muttering to myself. The Nepali men all took it in their serene stride. Nobody cursed. Nobody shouted back at the flight officials.


I sat between Keshav and Raj, who were both returning home after five years’ absence. Keshav showed me pictures of his twin sons, who he had never seen. He had left his young new wife pregnant and gone in search of work in the sweat-pits of Doha. Raj was on his way to find a wife, get married, leave her pregnant – he told me with a wink, and return to his job, all in three weeks! I told them stories of Zimbabwean migrant workers in South Africa. By the end of the flight we had become kindred spirits, united by the bond of our dysfunctional countries.
I arrived in Kathmandu 20 hours after I had left home, tired but strangely energized. Must be the serenity vibes transmitted to me in that B seat. Going through customs and immigration was a breeze, with officials very happy to see someone from “Jimbabwe”. I had to remember not to laugh throughout my stay in Nepal. Whenever I needed a good laugh in the office I would ask the big boss to pronounce the name of my country or the name of the South African country director. Jimbabwe and Janele, would just kill me every time. I was to discover other little Nepalisms; for some inexplicable reason an extra S always finds its way into Nepa-nglish, as in “providing supports to partners”. Then there is the disappearing H, as in “socks” – instead of shocks, “soez”. In a little mountain hotel, on my third night I asked for the room service menu. This was an absolute delight. On the menu were two interesting items; Chicken domestic, and poise egg. We shall return to these delicious items later.

Nepal is an ancient country, whose history dates back many centuries. Never having been colonized by anyone, the country is...how do I put it, just itself. My history lessons failed me totally. The country was not at all what I had assumed. I had expected a smaller version of India. No it isn’t. First difference was the food. I had expected very spicy, oily and ghee heavy curries. Nepali food is what health fanatics live on; steamed rice, nicely cooked lentils, lots of steamed greens, and the tiniest portions of chicken or lamb. Even the rotis were made from healthy unrefined flour. I am afraid my non health conscious- carnivorous- Southern African- beef cattle farmers’ daughter’s palate was not impressed. By day two I was near starvation. I resorted to the only two items that could satisfy my cravings, fanta orange and white bread. There was no McDonalds or Pizza Inn to run to.
Travelling to Dolakha district in the NorthEast of the country, I kept wondering why there were so many flags fluttering in the wind. Every household we passed had a flag pole, and several colourful flags. I thought Nepalis must be a very patriotic people. When I eventually asked my colleagues, (I am always afraid to ask things, nay I am too stubborn to ask, always thinking that my Form 3 history lessons should have covered all this and I can’t betray my ignorance), I was told these were Buddhist prayer flags. Even though we had called our boss the monk I just hadn’t internalized monk of which religion. In Nepal Buddhism and Hinduism co-exist side by side. In some cases, I was informed, families practice both, Buddhism today, Hinduism tomorrow. I like with this way of practicing religion, not the kind where you feel it is this or nothing else, or where people kill one another or violate women’s rights supposedly on behalf of distant Gods. Although I was made to understand that the caste system, enshrined in Hinduism was still rampant and a huge problem in the country, I still felt a huge difference from what I had experienced in India where caste discrimination and negative attitudes hit you the minute you land. In India, blacks are regarded as untouchables, as I have discovered in my travels there. Shop keepers will not take money, or put goods directly in my hand. In some establishments I was not greeted back despite my cheerily acknowledging people. If I was a Dalit in Nepali Hinduism then they certainly have a good way of hiding it. Everyone was polite, gentle, and always wanted to talk to me. Some wanted to touch me – my hair and size 18 hips being the big attractions!

Speaking of touching, my daughter’s friend, Maia, a young South African who has been living in Kathmandu for the last five months and I reflected on how we felt very safe with Nepali men. We each felt that in Africa, Europe and the Americas, we were often treated like pieces of meat each time we came in contact with men, who behaved like dogs. From security guards, to newspaper vendors to colleagues in offices, we are often hit by the sexual vibes, undertones and direct harassment. Yet in Nepal we both felt safe. That Buddhist monkish thing again?
Because of its unique history, Nepal can be described as “untouched”. Yet there was another intriguing part of it that I was to discover, its flirtation with and love for the hippie and rock and roll! Saturday night found me sitting in a beautiful bar-restaurant with Maia and her Danish partner listening to ‘70s to 80s hard rock. Earlier in the day I had seen a poster advertising a Bryan Adams show. I had assumed that someone had stuck it atop the tallest building just for fun. Oh no! My lovely little hotel simply called Hotel Tibet – and run by Nepali-Tibetans cranked up the volume on Sunday morning when Van Halen’s Jump played. For the life of me I still cannot imagine these quiet sweet people actually throwing their hair back and yodelling “Jump! Yeah! Yeah! Jump!” But apparently Nepal was once the hippie and rockers’ destination of choice. According to the internet and Nepalis old enough to remember, hundreds of long haired, weed smoking westerners made their way to Nepal in the last century. Ostensibly to smoke, and go mountain climbing. Reminders of that era are still very visible. Dozens of shops and stalls in Thamel, the tourists’ favourite market in Kathmandu still sell some rather dodgy looking long skirts, bell-bottomed trousers and some seriously off season jackets and sweaters. And the long haired ones, sans ganja, are still to be found wandering all over Nepal. These days though they come dressed in funky parkas, designer climbing shoes and matching sun shades, complemented by Arnold Schwarzenegger muscled torsos. Every hotel I went to was full of them and they were dotted over every mountain track.
Travelling inside a mountainous country was a huge challenge for someone with bad vertigo. The roads were narrow and the terrain – hairy, to put it mildly. Competing for this narrow space with “kombi” drivers made it even more hairy. You know the type that hog the road, and have a “my car is bigger than yours” mentality. We were pushed to within inches of a precipice several times that I began to worry if I had signed the latest version of my will. In the rural areas I saw dozens of people, young, old, male and female riding on the roofs of people carriers. This did not deter the drivers though, they careened and zig-zagged through this terrain without a thought for those holding on for dear life.
When several people asked me how Nepal was, I had said something quite foolish like; It is India without the spices, its China without the billion, and its Tibet without the Dalai Lama. But actually, Nepal is just, itself. At the risk of stereotyping an entire nation, the people are indeed gentle like “the monk”, quietly laid back, and struggling to find its democratic feet in the 21st century. Just like most of us.
Back to that delightful menu. I didn’t have time to order the “poise egg”, but I thoroughly enjoyed the “chicken domestic”. A bottle of the best Bayerskloof red wine coming your way if you can tell me what those are!