For Others

I was nervous that teaching without a partner in Nepal would be lonely. I feared that there would be no one to get ideas from while planning and if a lesson wasn’t going well in there wouldn’t be anyone in the classroom to save it. I anticipated feeling vulnerable in front of students that would notice and take advantage of the situation.

Thankfully, these feelings were never experienced when I was working with class 8. I felt a sense of belonging and togetherness   doesn’t even exist for me in many situations at home. In a different country, surrounded by people who can only understand about half of the words I speak, doing something I don’t have extensive practice doing, I was home. It wasn’t because my lessons were perfect or because I was so confident in my teaching skills, rather it was because of an energy that exists in the classroom. It is truly impossible to describe this energy; it can only be fully understood by people who have felt it. It makes my hands tingle when a student answers a question correctly and it makes my heart beat a little faster every time the class shouts about wanting to play a game. It reminds me of watching the sun rise and the way it first warms your face and then your whole body. Believing I truly taught these kids something new is accompanied by so much love and endless smiles exchanged. Though, it couldn’t mean this much to me if I didn’t understand how much it meant to them.

The CGA team introduced environmental projects to each class at LISHA School. We asked the students to creatively come up with an idea to heal the environment of Bhaktapur using recycling, composting, or reusing. These students passionately attacked the project and worked intensively for all the class time they received. Not only did they dedicate themselves to the projects at school, they took them home to continue; perfecting the spelling, organization, and content. Each one cares deeply about what they are making and will not quit until it looks the way they had envisioned. These students devote themselves to their education because they lack the privilege to say they don’t care. Instead of being indifferent about their schoolwork, they are inspired by it. They talk about the way their education can help them pull their families out of poverty and help Nepal develop. That idea is why these students are incredibly motivated. They are not only working for themselves, but for everyone around them. Their love for each other and drive to improve their surroundings is what makes them so powerful.

I feel grateful to be even just a small part of this community that works for each other. I have been working to provide them with the information they can use to better themselves and they have been striving to retain all of it to better the lives of their younger siblings and their neighbors and their schools and even the future of their country. It is going to be very difficult to say goodbye to the home I have found in Nepal but I will never forget the feeling of pure joy and full excitement I feel when I am with this family. I know now that the secret to working as diligently and as powerfully as the students in class 8 is understanding the work’s impact on others. I hope to continue finding ways to influence the lives of those around me.

Pride

Each night when I create my lesson plans, I worry that they will be too boring or too simple. I get nervous that class 8 won’t want to listen to me or that they will lack the desire to perform the tasks I assign them. But each day I am proved wrong over and over. The reality that I am presenting them with something new is enough for them to care. The students devote themselves to their work in a way that amazes me day after day, year after year. It seems as though I should have grown to understand and even expect their full engagement by now, yet there has not been a moment where their constant yearning for information has been anything short of incredible. The students take perfect notes, are constantly asking how to pronounce words, and desperately beg me to provide them with new definitions. Their goal is to do their classwork correctly, not completely.

The passion which is felt in the classroom is something which is nearly impossible to describe. On Monday I taught a lesson about modern appliances. It was wonderful to see the students so interested in things they had never seen before and even some things they had never heard of. To help them imagine what one looked like, we made small replicas of washing machines using paper and tape. The next day a boy named Nishan brought me a washing machine replica that he had built at home. Instead of being made from paper, the sides were composed of cardboard which he had painted blue, a cup had been glued into a hole he cut to represent the opening for the clothes, and buttons were pasted on with unbelievable precision. Nishan, a boy who has most likely never had the opportunity to see a washing machine with his own eyes, felt so strongly about something he learned that he took the time to create a perfect prototype without any help. He demonstrated the passion, creativity, and love each student brings to the classroom on a daily basis. They want to know more, to build more, to be more.

It is not only education which the Nepali people devote themselves to. It is their religion as well. The streets and buildings which were destroyed in the earthquakes are still being repaired everywhere you look. Four years have gone by, yet not a single moment has passed without a reminder of the devastation. Reconstruction is happening at all times because the Nepali people are driven to get back what has been taken from them. Their strength to continue and perseverance to recover never seem to waiver. Women walk the streets carrying bags filled with bricks and men work day and night to return those bricks to their original position. The same way the students have pride in their classwork; the citizens have pride in their homes. They want them to be strong and to be beautiful because their name is on it. Because they are responsible for them, they own them. And in Nepal that means something.

I have been inspired to engage in my tasks and work to make sure everything is I do is done to the best of my ability. Because I am Zoe Booth. And I want that to mean something.

To be Remembered

To say goodbye to someone forever feels like the worst kind of loss. You lose their presence in your life, and with that is a loss of a piece of yourself. Whenever I say goodbye to the students I have spent weeks teaching, loving, and working for, I study their faces. I try to memorize each curve, the way their face softens and their eyes light up when they smile. I have to actively work to remember what they look like, because I know it will be impossible to forget the way they make me feel. Once we part, my heart feels heavy and my throat tight. As time progresses, though, the sadness I feel from the loss turns into gratefulness for the time we spent together. I even feel acceptance that our memories together will have to be enough to fill our hearts because we will no longer be able to make more.

I have experience coming to terms with the reality that I will never see the students I love. What I don’t have experience doing is seeing a face I had already accepted saying goodbye to. But on Wednesday when we arrived at LISHA School, I understood the relief and the joy that accompanies seeing the same smile a year later. Gagan was the first to approach me with his softened face. I had so many questions for him about his year, his family, his soccer, and his school work. But before I could ask any of my questions he asked me one: why did it take you so long?

I didn’t know what to say as the question made me react in many different ways. I was already overwhelmed with happiness that Gagan  was in front of me once again, that he was still in school and that the boys continued to crowd around him as if he was their leader, yet he remained uninterested and maybe even oblivious. But his question made me feel a bit of sadness as well. As if he had spent so much time missing the CGA team. The thought of upsetting him, even if it were by leaving, was one that hurt me. His words also left me questioning myself. Why did I take so long? Why do I only devote my time to students like Gagan once per year? Am I using every moment purposefully enough? How can I- but before I could finish my thoughts Gagan pushed my arm playfully and giggled like he knew he was getting to me. His familiar laugh put me at ease and reminded me of all the answering I wanted him to do.

This week I have had this wonderful opportunity of being remembered at LISHA School by students like Gagan who I could never forget. I have always hoped that my time teaching students is truly impactful after I’m gone. That hope was always enough to carry me through. But this is the first trip I’ve been shown that the students cherish our time together as much as I do, if that is possible. They remember my name and talk about the games we played in the classroom and juggling a soccer ball during lunch. The reality that they too remember the lessons and down time we spent together fills me with so much love and pride.

Sharing memories with these students has made LISHA School truly feel like home. These past few days I have felt more comfortable at the front of a classroom teaching about international human values than I have ever felt at the back of the class learning about much less complex ideas like fractions.  I’ve finally witnessed proof that these inspiring students appreciate my presence in their homes, and don’t forget the amazing moments we have spent together.

This realization has made me want to work harder. They remember the activities which accompany my lessons. This makes me feel as if those activities need to be even more fun, even more exciting with each day. I want every lesson to be an unforgettable one. Thank you LISHA School for making me more driven by remembering. 

Home

Reflecting on the experiences which have helped to shape the person I am becoming, I feel grateful to have grown up in Colorado because it has provided me with many unique opportunities. Surrounded by the beautiful Rocky Mountains, I have fallen in love with hiking. The feeling of summiting a peak is unlike any other; you feel accomplished, strong, on-top of the world, and so small at the same time. It was immersed in the mountains where I learned such a valuable lesson. While I was on a 15-day Outward Bound backpacking trip, my teammates and I were presented with a very difficult task.

“You have 24-hours to get back to base camp" our instructors yelled as they began trekking away from our campsite, while the sun lowered behind a peak and the temperature began its descent. The 7 of us looked at one another, each bearing a different expression-- fear, excitement,  apprehension, regret and everything in between. We set out heading north and in the initial hours of our expedition I saw some of the most beautiful sights I had ever come across in my life. As we sumitted our first 13-thousand foot peak of the night, it felt as if the stars shone for a purpose and I was honored to be just one of the forms of life they illuminated the path for. The snow seemed to fall with more grace and glisten in a different way when I was observing it from a mile above treeline, under the moonlight. Spirits were high and conversations were enjoyable for hours upon hours. It was the 3rd of July and we fantasized about seeing fireworks when we got back to camp. We sang the “National Anthem” and shared our family’s traditions on this holiday. Everyone was tired, but working to keep each other happy enough to keep moving.

The morale crusher came at hour 14, mile 43. We had just regained our breath that had been sucked when we crossed the thinly iced over river 2 hours earlier. We came to the location where the most prominent landmark of our journey should’ve been- a bridge. But instead of finding a bridge, we found our instructors. They told us the high waters had washed out the bridge and there was no way to safely cross the river. We had to go up a mountain and add on additional miles in order to get around it. Chaos erupted- the two girls in my group started crying while a boy began throwing anything he had the strength to. I was sad, panicked, and unsure if we could do it. I didn’t know how to react, so I simply rested my tired eyes and thought about my options. It was in this moment that I realized the power of choice. It was up to me whether I wanted to be sad and angry or accepting and excited. Sleep deprived, exhausted, and confused, I still chose the later. I told myself to be happy we got to see more and push our minds farther than we knew possible. It is because of that instantaneous choice that I will forever be grateful for every extra step I was granted to take in the beautiful Rocky Mountains.

My home is in the mountains of Colorado, but it is also in the ice rink. I’ll never forget the way his brow furrowed more deeply and his eyes turned cold each time I caught his attention. He didn’t care if I was bigger, stronger, or faster. In his eyes I was never going to be enough because I wasn’t a hockey player- I was a girl. I decided I was going to do anything and everything in my power to find my own room in the hockey home. Passes had to be perfect, instructions had to be followed, and shots had to go in. Practice didn’t end when I left the rink; I begged relentlessly for my dad to take me to the frozen-over pond every night so I could practice edgework and speed, I constantly shot pucks in the garage to perfect my aim and power, and games were always on the TV being closely studied. I felt a responsibility to be as good as the boys because I was one of the only girls in the club. I had to prove myself because my actions were the only basis to set a judgement of how good any girl was at hockey. After 4 season of intense focus and work, I entered high school feeling ready to compete against the 6’4”, 250-pound seniors from around the state. My coach welcomed me on the team and gave me the chance to show that any girl can be just as good, and even better, than boy players. The home I found in the hockey community helped me to realize I have an important role in fighting for equality.

The places and people which have felt like home to me for the past 17 years have played a major role in the construction of who I am today. The mountains have taught me the value of choosing the path I want to take and hockey has made me stronger.

Garvesh

She speaks about the way the temperature decreases as the group gets closer to the summit. I try to imagine what it would be like, but I honestly have no idea. I’ve only seen snow once in my life and I’ve never even been on a hike. How could I even begin to fathom what it would be like to stand 29,000 feet above sea level on the highest mountain in the world? It makes me think about the prettiest days we have in Bhaktapur; the clouds part, the air pollution settles and I can see the infamous Mount Everest. “Garvesh,” she calls, and my attention is brought back to the classroom, “don’t forget to do the homework tonight.” My classmates start to pack up and I follow in sync. After saying goodbye to my teachers and friends, I begin walking back home on the cracked sidewalk. I hurry home because I know my mother worries and I’m excited to start the job that is waiting for me.

As I pass the busy side streets I see women carrying loads of bricks on their backs, the older boys practicing soccer, and the girls beginning to close their shops for the day. I politely decline offers from a vendor and remind myself to smile at the sanyāsī when I pass. My father owns a shop where we sell wooden furniture. His hands are always wrinkled and dark from the carving and my mother's voice always sounds worn from constant interaction with customers. Though, I know today will be different- be better.

Monsoon season came earlier than we were expecting and that means we are already planting rice with our neighbors. The second I get home I run to my room to put on shorts so I can join my family in the rice field. I love the feeling of the mud squishing between my toes when I step in, the cold ground cools my warm body, and I can’t help but smile at the sight of the perfectly parallel rows. My father is somewhat of a perfectionist and works hard to ensure the rows are straight and the seeds are placed with exactly enough space between each other. After a few hours in the field, the sun begins to set and my neighbors return home to wash themselves and prepare for dinner. My mother says we can stay a few minutes longer to finish the rows we began. My mother bends over to put another seed into the mud and her foot kicks up a splash that dirties my face. I playfully spray her back and the war begins. My father grabs fistfulls of thick mud and hucks them in my direction. I kick and throw as fast as I can and before I know it the whole family is wrestling and laughing together. When I stand up I am covered head to toe in layers of dark mud and I couldn’t be more grateful.

This was written from the perspective of a teenage boy in Bhaktapur Nepal. It is the account of a typical daily routine,  beginning with school and ending surrounded by family members working to grow rice in order to help support themselves. A great amount of the Nepalese culture can be understood through this boy’s story.

The boy started his day sitting in a classroom learning about Mt. Everest. This mountain impacts all of the Nepalese people, especially those that reside near it. Nepal is ranked one of the poorest countries in the world and so tourism plays a very important role in the country's economy.  Mount Everest climbers have been a dependable source of income , travelling to the country consistently for hundreds of years. In climbing season alone, from March to May, the population at the base of Mount Everest rises from around 40,000 to 700,000. A large portion of Nepalese people depend on this attraction to draw in tourists and give them jobs.

The boy walked home on a cracked sidewalk. This sidewalk was most likely broken in an earthquake in 2015. The earthquakes that struck near the city of Kathmandu in central Nepal killed about 9,000 people, injured over 20,000, and more than 600,000 structures in Kathmandu and other nearby towns were either damaged or destroyed.

The women carrying bricks on their backs in the boy’s story were representative of the Nepalese people’s persistence to recover from the devastating natural disaster. Even though the earthquake was a horrific and costly event, the people of Nepal remain strong in their fight to restore buildings, streets, and families.

The sanyāsī that the boy smiled at is a fairly common figure seen throughout Nepal. A sanyāsī is figure in the Hindu religion. Hinduism is the most common religion found throughout Nepal attracting about 80% of the total population. Hindus believe in a universal soul or God called Brahman. Brahman takes on many forms that some Hindus worship as gods or goddesses in their own way. Hindus believe that there is a part of Brahman in everyone and this is called the Atman. This is one possible explanation that the people of Nepal have such great respect for one another.

Being the son of a shop owner is a very common occurrence in present day Nepal. Nepal is the poorest country in South Asia and ranks as the twelfth poorest countries in the world. The citizens there are commonly working long hard hours in order to make just enough money to support their families. This is one of the reasons that many of the families also grow rice during the season it is possible. Planting rice is a good way for families to produce their own food and save money.

Although Nepal has faced some difficulties as a country, the future is looking positive. In the past 10 years, urban poverty declined from 22% to 10% and rural poverty declined from 43% to 35%. This is representative of developments being made to help the better the lives of the Nepalese people. I decided to begin the story with the boy in a school environment. This is because Nepal’s government is working to implement the extension of compulsory basic education to eight years of schooling. This would be beneficial to the development of the country as a whole because it would have a more informed population that can make better decisions and contribute more greatly to the economy. I can say the students I met in Nepal are ambitious and excited about their futures. This generation in Nepal will make beneficial changes in the country because they have set high goals and understand their potential to impact the government. For example, when I was leading a classroom discussion about corruption, the students revealed that they felt they knew more about the corruption happening in Nepal than their parents did because they had access to information form their schools and have fostered an interest in the subject. This sparked discussion about what the students could do to help make the government more just. I am confident that this generation of Nepalese people will help the country progress because they are informed and therefore inspired.