Yesterday we arrived. In every sense of the word, waking up with the power cut, breakfast in the gecko room, our rusty jeep waiting for us outside. We piled in and held on, keeping our heads ducked so as not to brain ourselves on metal bars. Silly Canadians being too tall for Nepali jeeps. We bumped along the road and watched it disappear behind us as we drove, waving at everyone we passed, getting head-ducking smiles and waves in return.
We drove through Lamahi and into surrounding tiny villages and past cows and cows and cows and goats and running chickens and houses built of mud and thatched roofs and bicycles leaning beside scooters leaning beside piles of hay, past the Creating Possibilities Dang office and reluctant men who waved at us anyway and around a corner and signs with beautiful Nepali script that I wish I could read.
We turned another corner and drove straight into what seemed like some kind of gathering. The rumbling jeep stopped--Dinesh calls to us to get out. Surprise on all of us, it was our welcome ceremony. The mothers from some of the 12 women's groups CP supports were all lined up with wreaths of flowers, hibiscus, marigold-looking, and purple dust-paint to smear across our faces. Namaste, namaste, welcome. And looking into the women's eyes and receiving the flowers they pressed into our hands, namaste felt like it could not be a more appropriate greeting.
I see the divine in you.
The light in me recognizes the light in you.
Yes, yes it does and it did and all the school children and students were gathered too and a drum beat somewhere behind us and turning to face the community gathered just for us I swallowed tears (which autocorrect wanted to be 'years' and I think that works too) sprung from somewhere touched inside of me because of the colours, because of the light, because of the words I could never say, hands pressed to heart, amazed.
And when we crouched down to take pictures and some of the students sat down with us they took our hands and held them just casually. Dhanyabad, thank you, it hardly feels enough.
We toured the classroom we would be helping with construction on--we are working on the second floor now--and then went to meet the teachers. The English teacher walked and chatted with me as we went; he seemed genuinely happy that we were there and excited to have us help out in his class. He sat us down, called me sister, introduced us to how the school works and why they are all gathered here for us. As a learning opportunity, as a chance to practice English, as a piece of cultural exchange, to boost the confidence of the students in speaking with white people. Most of the students are Tharu, one of the many different ethnic groups in Nepal. Which means their first language is Tharu, second language (if they have access to schooling) is Nepali, and third language, for one period of the day, is English. Practice hellos, my name is, the little things. Again I am confronted with the overwhelming desire to be able to speak more Nepali, more languages, know more. Even though Dinesh himself said it does not matter for us to learn Nepali because we are not here very long, I wish I had, wish I could. We are picking up some simple words (pani, eta, water, brick) but that only takes us so far. Give me time, more time, and I will learn your language because how else can you be more fully present? Even though deep breaths and smiles and laughs still connect all the same.
After meeting with the teachers we started to transport bricks up to the second level of the classroom building. Not for long was it just us though, because the grade 10s, 7s, 6s came to help out. They lined up and worked their way through introductions, handshakes, head bows, "my name is" "mero naam...". It was funny (interesting? I wish there was a more appropriate word for this) to see the different confidence levels with different students...generally the male students were much more inclined to use English and use it confidently, something that will be interesting to watch when we help out in the classroom. We made an assembly line of students and volunteers and some of the mothers to pass brick by brick up the line. Hand claps to erase the dust, slow counting "eik dui teen" and laughter between all of us. Receive with left hand, pass with right, both. 
We did two rounds of classes for brick passing and then because it was Friday the students had a half day and slowly filtered away, leaving us with the mother's group for lunch. Served on folded leaf plates, we had this delicious coconut rice pudding and spicy potato mixture. Absolutely delicious, and eaten with our brick-dusty hands. Count how many times I have said or will say delicious and try to understand just how very true every one of them is.
We left shortly afterwards but carries several of the women back to the CP office with us. We were then given a short tour of the small space in the pretty orange building (cold Pepsi as another welcome treat) and took off our shoes to chat via Dinesh about the mother's group and their scarf-making, taking up space as we were in the small workshop.
It is fascinating to get the Nepali side of how these things go, or at least the Dinesh/CP side of micro financing and things and how they choose to run this program. And always the most difficult part is how do you choose. How do you choose which students to support, how do you say no, how do you say wait in line, because every need is a valid need but not everyone sees that. Especially not when you are separated by an ocean or distance or urbanity or time, especially when you don't have to confront these faces and children and eyes and lives every day. How perilously easy it is to just flip the channel, close the book when you are not here.
Returning home, because this lodge is certainly home now (and I think I'll run away with the hotel owners son because he speaks in occasional English words and is the most respectful kid), we dove into some deliciously fresh watermelon, a super sweet bonus on top of our day, our faces cracked with pink-purple and sweat lines. This heat here is something else, dry breezes over dry land and sunshine like hot copper over us.
So these are the words I have found so far.
Today was our first full work day, a day off school for the kids so it was much quieter. We moved bricks, balancing on our head, laid brick with slabs of homemade cement, tried to stay cool in 40+ degree shade. Drank water, electrolytes, got dusty. So much dust and dirt and sweat, just dripping down your face, neck, back, hands, collecting brick dust in elbow creases, sprinkled over chest, mixed in with your hair. Physical physical work with evident results. Check out the wall we have now added to.
The masons we are working with are incredibly patient in letting us learn with them; we are all getting fluent at gesture-communication. Watering down the bricks, mixing the cement, slabbing it down layer by layer. Literally brick by brick this is happening. Our hands are just making it to a little bit faster for the women who have been working alongside us in the first place, stacking bricks 9-high on their heads, dumping bags of concrete mix.
I feel like a sidekick in doing this, knowing long after I'm gone they will still be chipping away piece by piece at this construction. It is a wonder everything and anything gets done in such heat, with such an apparently enormous task ahead.
But that is just the way of the world sometimes. There is no rushing these things. It will happen as it happens. Mark the progress, cross off the calendar days and eventually time will be on your side.
It is an early morning start to hopefully avoid the worst of the day heat, so here is to that.
keep going, friends
-k
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