My simple life in Nepal

I can hardly believe I have been gone from the monastery for 3 days. It seems so long ago already, which is weird since life almost stands still there in some sense. It was only night turning to day and the gentle changes that make realize another day has pasted in these bricks wall. I wake every morning around 6:30 to be at breakfast at 7, which always consists of fresh roti (bread/flour tortilla) with butter, honey or jam, a bowl of lentils and milk tea. Each day except Sunday, a gong hurries the monks to school to be ready for role at 9. Then they start with a morning prayer that is actually a song. Namka Sambo and his brother Namka Mingma are my favorite at this time because not only do they sing the loudest you can always see they joy in their faces.





The majority of monks know what an honor it is to be in school when over 70% of the children of Nepal are not. I have to say the youngest monks are the most fun to watch learn, but the older grades brought me the most joy since their classes are small and I can teach them one on one. Outside the classroom they are shy with their English and paying attention to what there peers are doing. I have offered many of them help outside of school, but I have to trap them to try even though once I have them in my clutches they are eager to learn.

Each monk is amazing in there own way and I wish I could share a few tibits about each, but for now I'll write about 10 of my 80 students.




-Chimi is a helpful, thoughtful monk and one of the best English speaker who tells me about his life in Nepal


-Tenzin Namgye "Ugyen" who talked my ear off when we walked down the hill to release the snake, but in class barely says a word. He not only loves hip-hop dancing as much as me, but actually quite good at it especially considering that he only sees it in movies here and there


-Gompa Sherpa who wears a watch but cannot tell the time and finds great amusement in our fake telephone game


-Karma Wozer who is the best built and silently uses his strength to help others, like when one of the other monks had a seizure and he carried him to bed


-Sangay Phuntsoki who hides his mouth and smile with his robe, and who draws landscapes in his notebook and then labels everything in English


-Pema Tenphel who is always running and us English speakers affectionally call Snakey because he sticks down his tongue whenever he is nervous


-Tuklu the "prince in a little chair" who is a reincarnated Lama who loves to dance, eat, and take pictures


-Choeing Dirmed the monk who is throughly enjoying his reading if Goosebumps and turned beat red when I made him dance with me because he didn't ask me three questions during our game


-Rabin my monkey monk who has a nose that is constantly running, is a champion at English, and always climbing, cartwheeling and flipping when we are outside


-Pema Galtsen the monastery shopkeeper, who has a heart of gold but will never admit it and who is making one of the biggest decisions of his life to make his vows as a monk or simply have a Buddhist life



-Pema Norbu who I constantly tried to make smile since he does it when he absolutely means it and loved to read books to me when none of his friends were around

For all the monks I wrote about and the ones I didn't get I can say they will hold a special place in my heart, I miss each one dearly for some of the same and different reasons and hope one day in the future see them all again and to find about what became of them in their monk hood, life and with their English.

Three New Monks (September 23, 2011)

Three new monks arrived at the monastery. They are in grade 1, and don't speak English (unless the abc's count in your book) or Tibetan. They only speak Nepali, so only 75% of the people here can talk to them. I have smiled at them often but have yet to meet or teach them.


The youngest one and I play peek-a-boo and I chase him around, I have tried to learn his name but he is to shy to tell anyone and the other teachers do not know it. For some reason I am drawn to this little monk and can help but wonder what he is feeling with his new life.

All the monks have a choice to be here or not, but it feels different to me for the young ones. Are they truly capable to make such a big decision about their life so early in life?

I personally would be scared out of my mind to not know anyone or to have a family to comfort me, especially to know I may never see them again, but maybe to them education and learning the dharma is worth it.


When a new monk arrives at the monastery, with a small ordination ceremony in front of the Mahaparinirvana statue. Then there head will shaved; dressed in a monk's yellow shirt and maroon robe, honored with the necessary Buddhist prayers and administered ten moral commandments, and given a monks name in replace of their birth name from the lama. Then there new life begins.

I am curious to see and hear what happens to these monks but especially the littlest one.

Location:Rigor Tashi Choeling Monestary, Pharping, Nepal

No Longer A Monk (written on September 18, 2011)

Today I am battling the question of right and wrong, and the impact we have on other people's future. What I am feeling is based on second hand knowledge, my own interactions, and what does forgiveness and punishment mean.

A couple of weeks before I came to the monastery, I was told that a gang of teenage monks held a young monk over the side of the side of a three story building. This was not the typical games boy play. This young monk was terrified as he dangled in their hands only by his maroon robe. Thankfully a teacher saw this and he was quickly brought back to safety and released.

Later the teacher asked the boys who treated the young monk to step forward and take their punishment. One by one they stepped forward with most of them showing instant regret, but one monk, the leader of the pack did not step forward. When he was called out, he should no shame and kept saying he was not sorry because it was only a joke. The gang of monks were all to apologize to the young monk personally, give a public apology at the school, and write a letter to their parents about what they did. Some did it willing, but the gang leader had to be pushed. When asked why his letter was blank to his parents, he said his mom was dead and his dad was jail. Finally he apologized to everyone and wrote a letter to his uncle, however none contained any sincerity.

When I met the gang leader, I had no clue of the ugliness he could do. To me he was a quiet student, with a shy smile, who kept to himself. As I got to know him I could see his need for love but that he had no clue on how to receive it. When I heard the story of what he had done, I couldn't believe my ears. I couldn't see any of the monks being this mean, not because they were monks but because of their demeanor in general.
I heard second hand that the gang leader would be expelled (kicked out of the monastery), but did not know when. Then one day while eating lunch I saw him dressed in jeans and a T-shirt walking to a car with his small group of friends. In my head I knew this must be goodbye but my heart did not want it to be so. I knew he needed to leave, it would be better for the monks here but I didn't like the how. I was sad not be informed of the when because I would have written him a letter with my contact info, wished him luck, and give him a hug that I know his body would turn from but that his heart needed. It felt like this young monk was swept under the table in secret without ever feeling welcome again, instead of a chance to be welcomed to visit the monastery when he need the comfort or help for his new struggles. However maybe before with out my knowledge the other monks had already said their goodbyes, it happens a lot in these foreign lands where one does not understand the customs or the languages that one assumes something and it is wrong. Now matter what my heart cried when the car drove off, and the monks waved. I knew then I would never see this person again, and my only hope is that he does not feel abandoned, knows he will be in my thoughts, and that the monks wished his actions did make it so that he had to be asked to leave.

Later that week one of my students and friend, that speaks decent English, told me that the student who left had written me a letter but he forgot it at his home that he visits every Saturday night and Sunday. Every night I wonder what the letter says, but more than that I hope it has his contact information so I can tell him how sad I am that I missed his departure and I will always be someone that cares.

Location:Nepal

Asura Cave

The Asura Caves are about a 20 minute walk from my home in Nepal at the monastery. They are located up a steep hill from the small town of Pharping. My friend Ed showed me the caves and explained there significance, an 8th century Indian Buddhist scholar,Padmasambhava, on his pilgrimage to Tibet attained enlightenment while he mediated in Asura Cave.




Outside the entrance to the cave is a handprint that seems to be melted into solid stone. Science can't explain in but stories do, it was said after years of meditation Padmasambhava came back to this reality tired and weak, when he trying to leave the cave he stumbled and reached
for support.




His hand touched the stone, melted it because of all the meditation energy his body has built up. I'm not sure if I believe it or not, but I can tell you that going to the cave, using my mall, and trying to meditate in the cave was truly a holy experience. The monks also tell me if someone passes away during mediation there body can stay warm for weeks before they can have a funeral.




At the cave I also was fortunate to have my mala blessed by a Buddhist guru. Malas are Buddhist prayer beads, that consist of a strand of 108 beads.

I have been told two meanings for the number of beads.

1. There are 108 beads instead of just a 100 because when you are saying your mantra you are likely to mess up, the extra beads ensure that you will get 100 passable mantras completed.

2. Each bead is a symbol of impurities and flaws that an individual must overcome. 108 beads is said to represent the following formula:
6 x 3 x 2 x3 = 108
6 senses of a human being: sight, sound, smell, taste, touch, thought
3 times: past, present, future
2 conditions of heart, mind or intention: pure or impure
3 disturbing emotional states.

Location:Phrasing, Nepal

Peace, Wisdom, Compassion

Rigon Tashi Choeling Monastery

On Tuesday, September 5, I rode out of the chaos of Kathmandu and through the doors of Rigon Tashi Choeling Monastery where I would be teaching English to Buddhist Monks. When I first arrived I was uncertain of my duties and what would happen next since Neejal the person who dropped me off and my contact for Volunteer Aid Nepal did not know himself. I entered the main office, where a gruff man told me there were four rules: No Drinking, No Smoking, No Eating Meat (yes, I’m vegetarian for the month), No Monks in your room, and then sent me away. Thankfully, I met the Brazilian who now lived in Australia, my co-English teacher, Edson (Ed) who had already been here for a month and was staying for two more. He not only showed me the ropes but has become my mediation teacher, tour guide and very talkative friend. We would mediate at 6am, breakfast at 7am (Ed only eats lunch because he is to “healthy/fat”), teach two classes starting at 9am, take tea with the elder monks at 11am, lunch at noon, an hour break, teach two classes from 2-4pm, teach English to the older monks, dinner at 6pm, hang out, then bed by 8pm or 9pm. Have half days on Saturday and Sundays off. For the rest of the month I would be apart of this simple life, with the majority of my time trying to teach English.

As one can imagine for me, the first day of teaching I was completely nervous. What the heck had I gotten myself into, I the person who jokingly has their own language, Wetterberguese since she is not good at English, teaching someone else such a hard language? As usual Ed saved the day. He not only taught English to the monks he made it fun. He is a 46 year old kid that can trick anyone into learning, and with him I found my place as more of a teacher aid then the primary teacher. The youth I saw struggling I would try and give one on one attention and add in my layer of knowledge of what had helped me when I learned. A dynamic was quickly built and I fell confident in my role as Miss, my new name at the Monastery. Ed also has inspired me to become TELF certified because it not only will allow me to help others, it will help me to learn correct English. The best thing about teaching is that when you are teaching someone else you also are teaching yourself 

 

Future Lama

On to the monks in school that Ed and I are teaching. They are as young as 5 and as old as....depends on when they enter the Monastery and when they finish the Dharma (Buddist teachings). Unlike traditional school the monks in training come here to become monks first and to get an education second. Grade 1 ranges in ages from 5-14 because they are 1^st year monks and when they past the 1^st year Dharma, Tibetan, Nepali, and art they move onto Grade 2 and so on, even if they don’t pass the other subjects such as English and Math. Therefore each grade is a mixture of age and levels of English. Think olden day schools in the US with all the kids in one classroom. 

The monks in training start at all different ages because of two things, when their family sent them to the monastery or when they decided for themselves to become monks. For a Nepali family it is an honour to have a monk in the family, and to a poor family it also means that their son or daughter will get fed and have an education. I am not passing judgement since all the young monks are asked if they want to be here, but for some you can see the pressure or lack of interest in Buddhism. Whereas, the monks that start later are the ones who are serious about it. To me it is similar as starting college fresh out of high school because that is what you are suppose to do, and an adult choosing to go to school, as you can imagine the one who really wants to be there is more serious. The nice thing about this system is when you finish your 7 grades you have a year to decide if want to take your vows to continue the monk life forever or live a “normal” life. One of the most interesting people here is a gentleman who went to school with one of the other elder monks but decided it was not the life for him, and now works at the Monastery as a translator; I like talking to him because he can explain both sides of the coin to me. 

One thing that surprised me about the young monks in a good and bad way is that I thought they might be more like robots then real boys. Like all boys, they show off, chase snakes (but don’t kill them because that is a bad monk), love attention, cheat, tattle on each other, check out girls, fight, and love to laugh and smile. My favourite time with them is when then read or try to read to me books especially Dr. Seuss, which also my favourite time with the elder monks. There is such a beauty is sharing a childhood favourite with another culture. 

Ed, Mike (former English Teacher) and the monks in training.

Speaking of books, Ed is creating an English library here so all the monks can bring books to their room to read. Currently we only have 20 books which have to stay with us so they have something to read to us when we teach. If anyone is moved so, mail a check to my parents and email me the name of their favourite childhood book(s), (Goodnight Moon, Goosebumps, Choose Your Own Adventure, etc.) and I will buy two copies and donate them to the Monastery with your name written and any message you like inside the cover. I would have asked you to just mail the books but the mail system in Nepal is not great. And until I can guarantee that they will get here, this is the best bet. If you do so, I also promise to picture of the monks reading your childhood favorite.

My email: SanDiegoBound@hotmail.com

My parents address: 6605 Ptarmigan Road, Racine, WI 53406.

Namaste.

All Hands = Summer Camp for A Cause

Sorry, for not keeping up with my promise to write once a week but when you are at a summer camp for adults you are constantly surrounded by amazing people who not only do you want to know everything about and are coming and going every day like my friend Ms. Monica who I miss dearly already.



When I stepped off the overnight bus in Ofunato, Iwate Japan I had no idea how many dreams I never knew I had would come true, and how many times my heart would be saddened. I walked lost and tired to my new home for the month, when a happy face named Chloe walked out of a portaloo (port a potty) said hello and took me into the world of organized chaos.



There are two place to stay FS or Sakari base. Each has it pros and cons, can you guess which one I stayed at?




FS: 20-30 people sleeping on tatami mats or an air mattress if they we lucky enough to bring one in an air conditioned room, communal showers, 10pm curfew with lights out, and having to make the 7:45am then 8:15 bus for work, and western toilets readily available

Sakari Base: 50-60 people sleeping on bunks beds with cardboard to make it a little more comfy and hopefully an old volunteer left you some bedding, no AC only fans, bucket showers, squat port-a-lous out front unless you want to walk 5-10 minutes to a western toilets, no curfew just 10:30pm quiet hours, and only having to make the 8:15 bus to work.

I was placed in Sakari base where I happily stayed for my month duration. I either had the top bunk or stole Rob's 4 inch blow up mattress when he was on the satellite project in Kessunuma. Staying here let me stay up most nights longer than I needed too being with all the other social animals.


So what does day at All Hands look like?

For me it means waking up around 7:20am so I can wash my face in ice cold water, brush my teeth, say good morning to everyone except Wynne (you don't talk to her until she starts dancing), checking the schedule at the train station (using the western toilets), grabbing a pb&j and jumping on either the apple or banana bus for a day of work.


Depending on the job we usually take a 15 minute qique (break)
at 10:30, an hour lunch/nap when the bento boxes arrive, another qique at 2:30, clean up tools at 3:45pm, and be picked up by a green bus and hopefully back to base by 4:30pm.




From 4:30 till 5:30, I either took a bucket shower or hung out until dinner was served. Two local ladies see what food has been donated add it to our daily budgeted amount (about $5 per person) and whip up something tasty even if I don't always know what it is.


Then Chris T./Chris #1 (there have been 12 guys named Chris since the start and by the way I'm Terri #2) starts the meeting by asking all new or returning volunteers to introduce themselves, where they are from, how long they a staying, and how they heard about All Hands. The joke is if you are not staying longer than a month people won't try to remember your name, I was lucky to meet the deadline. Next all the team leaders talk about how the work for the day went and any good stories or antidotes. I have to say Alan team leading Foam Party was my favorite since he usually sang a portion of his speech. Once that was done we reviewed meeting notes, jobs for the next day, and who wanted to do dishes so they could have 1st sign ups on the job board. Then my most nights my eyes became teary as those leaving before the next meeting said goodbye.


After the meeting we hung out, learned to put on yukatas, drank in the garden, watched movies, went to Lawsons, walked and said goodbye to someone on the night bus and had a great time with each other.


This schedule went on for 6 days until we had our one Tuesday a week off. So Monday's became our Fridays, which meant karaoke and Tuesday meant cheeseburgers for lunch since we had to fend for ourselves. My favorite being when a group of us made homemade burgers and chips on a camp stove. Followed by a new favorite treat called "seagull eggs," which is a doughy bread with bean paste inside which is so much better than it sounds.


Well that is a summarized day of my life with All Hands in Japan.

Location:Ofunato Iwate Japan

An Emotional Day by Erica Hill

My All Hand's friend, Erica Hill is a way better blogger than I am, both in quantity and quality. She wrote the amazing post below, and with her permission said I could repost on my blog. To read more of her amazing writing about All Hands check out http://freespirittraveller.wordpress.com/


Today marked my fifth day at the Rikuzentakata Photo cleaning project, as well as my first day as team leader. Wynne, the regular team lead, needed a mental/physical break from doing photos.yy Terri and I volunteered to each work a day for her so she could do something different for the first time in three weeks.

Usually, photo cleaning is a 3-day commitment, since it involves training the volunteers how to safely clean photos, and the more damaged photos require some experience. Wynne usually gave the more heavily damaged albums to the longest-term volunteer there; newbies got the least damaged and therefore easiest ones.

This is significant to explain, because today I had a team comprised of newbies, with one repeater. We have been joined at Project Tohoku by a group of Habitat for Humanity volunteers from Tokyo. They come down once a month, and only stay for two days. This was the situation for Terri yesterday and myself today. What this meant is that all the people working there the last two days have done only easy albums… but they did a LOT of them.


Terri started off the morning with me, sorting the albums they had cleaned yesterday. There were piles and piles of them. After we got a handle on them, Terri rejoined her group next door (who were sorting through valuables stored in a warehouse). The day before, one of our bus drivers, Sato-san, had looked at the photos and got very excited. He recognised friends of his in some of the photos the volunteers were cleaning. Terri mentioned this to me, but we both reckoned it would figure in much later down the road.

During our morning break, a car pulled up and a couple got out. They didn’t speak any English, and most of the volunteers working on photos didn’t speak much English either. They seemed to be asking where to get photos, so we were trying to explain how the Rikuzentakata community centre holds a photo library each weekend for people to look through and reclaim their pictures. The language barrier was quite frustrating, to all of us. As we were speaking, Terri and another HFH volunteer emerged from the warehouse and wandered over to us. As she got closer, Terri gasped and pointed to the man. “It’s Poser!” she told me.


“Poser” was the name of a man who appeared in almost every album they had cleaned yesterday, and a few we had cleaned this morning. She had seen his picture so many times that she recognised him. She ran into the photo room and came back out with one of the albums. She opened it and pointed to his photo, pointed to him in photos of a baseball team, and showed him. His surprise and pleasure were immediate. His wife, however, did not share his enthusiasm. She turned to the volunteer who came with Terri (the only Asian in our little cluster besides the couple) and spoke rapidly. He turned to us and asked if we had any more albums, and explained that they were Sato-san’s friends. We most definitely did. I got the ones I knew of, and brought them out. The woman reached for them with trembling hands and held them a moment before opening them. When she opened up to a photo of a little girl of about 6 flashing a peace sign, she gave a cry and held her hand over her mouth. Her eyes filled with tears, and she literally could not speak. Her husband laid a hand on her shoulder (an extremely rare gesture of emotion for Japanese people) and whispered to her. She cried there for a few moments, then turned to the HFH volunteer and slowly, gulping a lot of air, began to speak in broken sentences. His eyes widened, and he turned to us and quietly told us that the couple had lost their daughter in the tsunami, along with all their photos. They had been praying that some of their photos of her had survived, so they could have some memories of her. Not only had we found HUNDREDS and HUNDREDS of them, but they were all perfect. Most photos are damaged, some badly. It’s rare to find some in excellent condition, but these were like new. They both were so overcome that they could barely say thank you.


I don’t think there was a dry eye in the house.

They returned in the afternoon to see if we had found any more of their photos (we had) and they took a look at the photos we were working on. They studied all the wet photos hanging, and looked through the finished albums. They found some photos of friends and some of theirs we hadn’t recognised as belonging to them. They were much more expressive this time, and thanked us profusely.

It was very moving, and above all, it was a reiteration that this work is important and meaningful to the people here.