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.

Inexistence of Mundanity

My name is Zoe Booth and this will be my fifth year traveling with Children’s Global Alliance. I began my journey with CGA at 13 years old when I traveled to Cambodia. This trip forced me to realize that not everyone has the luxury of living a life the way I do. There are millions of people who surmount countless obstacles to survive to see the next day. It made me much more appreciative for everyone and everything I have. This trip instilled in me a sense of responsibility to help others that has carried me through trips to Tanzania, Morocco, and Nepal with Children’s Global Alliance. In these countries we help teach English and work to instill hope in the children. We show them that someone cares and that we believe they have the potential to be something great, which is important because that reassurance is not given in many of their households. This year I am traveling to Nepal again as a student mentor. This means that I set an example for the other student volunteers I am traveling with and am the person they can reach out to when they need help lesson planning, blogging, fundraising, or mentally preparing for the trip.

Last summer, the “Second a Day” app allowed my best friend to take a one-second video clip every single day of our summer and combine them into a 2 minute video which filled my heart (and tear ducts), even through the 76th time watching it. My appreciation for this life grew stronger as each image flashed across the screen. I saw high mountain peaks, the reflection of sunrise on a still lake, my friends feasting on chocolate chip waffles. The background sang of rivers rushing by, music from Red Rocks concerts, the crackle of a fire, and belly laughs--a direct result of my display of uncoordinated dance moves. The video clips only lasted a second each, but their collection told a whole story.

I had this idealistic version of a video I could create that would capture my favorite parts of my world- Mr. Dupree passionately explaining how wild and wonderful the process of photosynthesis is, the sound a soccer ball makes hitting the back of the net, my mom leading me up a 14er, discussing the importance of creating a poem that has the power to move an audience, doing overspeeds with the boys at hockey practice, and standing in front of a chalkboard in classroom filled with students who so badly want to learn about adjectives.

I decided I would start this video the day I left for Nepal. But the minute I met my first student in class four, the video-making process became impossible. I wanted all of their faces to be included in my story. It wouldn't be complete without the dance moves we created to remember the different parts of a plant’s life cycle and the pictures the students drew to contrast area with volume and footage of them planting seeds in plastic bottles to help reduce the air pollution we were learning about.

I recognized this feeling immediately but didn’t fully understand it until I was welcomed into one of my student’s home. During this home visit, I came to understand how detrimental the 2015 earthquakes had been on the entire Dattatreya Square community. It dawned on me that the bricks they used to play musical chairs weren’t parts of construction sites, they were a parts of the millions of buildings that crumbled to the ground. The cracks in the wall next to the bed where I slept wasn’t one that had appeared gradually, it came when the ground shook so violently that the foundation was tested.

The people I was working with in Nepal made every second worth living in because they knew all too well that everything can be taken away in an instant. The common practice of living fully in the present was the reason it was impossible for me to pick which “second” was important to include; everyone lived as if each moment was the most important moment they’d ever have.

This year I am traveling back to Nepal with Children’s Global Alliance because I want to once again to be reminded that it is not only scarce and spectacular moments that are worth capturing, every moment is significant. In addition to wanting to experience the culture once again, I cannot wait to be reunited with the students I worked with last year. I am thrilled to see how their English has progressed and how time hasn’t weakend, rather strengthened our relationship as we both anxiously anticipate more time with one another.

Learning about love

Hugging the children goodbye leaves me with the most contradicting emotions I have ever experienced. Since October, I have been looking forward to meeting these students and have known the past two weeks would change my life. Before this trip my life felt whole and I felt complete. After coming to Bhaktapur and meeting these kids, I’ve realized that I could not have possibly been whole before all of this. I was missing so many bonds and not giving or receiving near enough love. Every waking second of this trip has been spent thinking about or executing different, new ways to make the lives of these children a little bit better. My life has been entirely devoted to this class of 19 students whom I have grown to love. I have taught them about the importance of Women’s Rights, the negative impacts of pollution, and the ways we can work to prevent diseases. I have learned about their beautiful religion, their unique manners, and their rice planting season. I care so deeply about every individual and want their futures to be better than right now. I’m here to show them that they are important and loved and that education will give them a chance to make that brighter future a possibility. We have developed this bond that will never disappear and it makes me feel so full, but at the same time I feel like there is something missing. Now that I have left the school completely and parted ways with all of the students, it’s harder to breathe, and think, and walk, knowing that I will probably never see their wonderful faces again. The pain of leaving is only made bearable by the reality that I am so lucky to have created connections with these people that are so difficult to leave. I feel very grateful to have people in Nepal to miss.

I can only hope I taught my class a percentage of what they helped me learn. Not only did they teach me so much about this world, they taught me about myself as well. They pushed me to leave my comfort zone and try entirely new methods of teaching. They helped me understand the power and effectiveness of student-led learning. These children made me feel worthy of all the love they were giving me and reminded me that curiosity is essential to those that truly want to learn.

The country of Nepal and the students of Lisha School will forever have my heart.

Selfless

Expressing the beauty I have witnessed in the Nepalese people is near impossible because it is not the words they speak, but the way they speak them. It is not what they do, but how they do it. When I watched the young boy who welcomed us into his home offer the last bite of his egg to his brother before taking it for himself, I felt like I understood his values. He and his family warmly embraced foreigners into their home and shared food, stories, and smiles which gave me further insight into the culture of Nepal. Even though the home shared by four people occupied a space barely the size of my bedroom, the people in it wanted to give us everything they had.  The mother kindly cooked us eggs and offered us a traditional dish called Kurd. The family struggles every day to purchase enough food to survive, and even so, they were willing to share their hard earned necessities with strangers.

This family and this country is made up of people who are wise and generous. They share all that they have, even when it is most precious.

An amazing woman who has been helping to guide us around the city of Bhaktapur shared with us one of the most important moments she will ever experience. Samriddhi invited the entire Children’s Global Alliance team to her brother’s wedding. She spent the entire evening showing us around the incredible event. She took time out of her life during such an important moment to share it with others. She demonstrated the level of selflessness which exists throughout Nepal. Samriddhi waited until we arrived and ate dinner with us, she spent this monumental experience catering to the needs of people she has known less than a week. This wedding was an arranged marriage and an opportunity for all of the family members to get to know each other. When we were introduced to the bride she offered us hazel nuts to represent the relationship we formed and its ability to grow. We each got 4 nuts because we didn’t know the bride, but the stronger the relationship was, the more people were offered. This was a very impactful symbol to me because it made me realize that it is not the social status or appearance of guests that makes them more important, it is truly the bonds which exist between people.  All of the guests at the wedding were very friendly and welcoming of a group of people so different from them. They were not judgmental of our group and made me feel like I belonged everywhere I went.  

The people of Nepal have deepened my understanding that no matter how little you might have, you can always share it with others. I will carry these lessons with me always. When I have guests in my home I will work to make them feel as comfortable and cared for as the families in Nepal have made me feel. Like Samriddhi, I will try to share the most special moments with others because everyone deserves to experience life’s greatest events.

Autotrophic

I stand at the front of a classroom of twenty five 11-year olds and their confusion is evident to me through their furrowed brows and turned up lips. I remind myself not to panic, remember that autotrophic is a big word, English is a hard language, and my accent is one they very rarely hear. I smile and ask the question in a more simple way, “Class 4, do plants have mouths?” Their perplexion turns to giggles as they deny my rather silly question. Feeling more relieved, I explain that because plants don’t have mouths, they cannot eat food and must make their own. This characteristic is why plants are classified as autotrophic. While all animals (and fungi) need to eat other organisms in order survive, and are classified as heterotrophic. As class 4 came to understand these words, they began to mean something deeper to me.

Learning about life in a classroom is easy. You are told the things you need to have in order to survive- things like food. But learning about life outside of the classroom is harder because you have to figure it out for yourself. I have discovered that happiness is most essential to my personal survival. The students I am teaching and learning from in Nepal are like the autotrophic organisms. They make their own happiness, even in the most challenging circumstances. The natural disaster that shook all of Bhaktapur in 2015 has left the city broken. Bricks on the ground are uneven, homes lay crumbled on streets, and buildings remained cracked. The children do not look at the reminders of the earthquake and feel terrified or upset by the past. Instead, they embrace the moments we have right now. They use remnants from destroyed buildings as nets in table tennis. They play musical chairs with bricks that once supported a building. The students are excited to dig through piles of structure remains to pick up trash with us. These children live in the present in a way I have never seen before, because they know more than anyone how much can be destroyed in a single instant.

I want to stray away from the heterotrophic way of life, where I depend on outside sources to fuel my joy. In the past I have found myself relying on objects or other people’s actions to satisfy me. The way of life in Nepal has shown me that this is insufficient; I have been shown that only I have control over the way I am feeling. I have been inspired to search for joy, not because of the things I have, but because of the moments I am in. Every moment in life is worth being present for and worth truly living in. I want to strive to be like my friends here in Nepal. Rather than simply existing, I have been inspired to become more aware of my surroundings and search for joy in every crack of this earth. I want to be like an autotrophic organism that can thrive in even the harshest environments.

Reducing Poverty

As of 2017, 1 billion children live in poverty and 22,000 die annually because of their conditions. Every day, almost 2,000 children die from diseases linked to unsafe water and lack of basic sanitation. More than 100 million children under age 5 are undernourished and underweight, which contributes to 45 percent of all infant deaths.

And behind every statistic is a person. An individual with value and potential, with feelings and aspirations, a person that deserves more than they have been granted. I know because I have seen it; I have looked into the eyes of a starving boy and felt bone much too close to skin on a little girl’s hand. The effects of poverty are all too real and widespread, but actions can be taken to aide in its termination.

Increased access to education would contribute to reducing poverty. An understanding of basic skills such as reading, writing, and simple math will give children more opportunities in life. Some of these opportunities include better employment, better health, and potentially the ability to participate in the political process. Additionally, education can help save lives. It has the potential to prevent maternal and infant mortality by helping women recognize danger signs, seek care and make sure health workers are present at births. Educated women statistically have less children, which increases the likelihood the family will be able to provide for all members. Increased understanding of health and sanitation will help people prevent themselves and their families against illnesses. The most promising thing about increased access to learning, though, is that it can end entire cycles of poverty. Because of the way our economic systems operate, those who are born poor tend to stay poor their whole lives. Through the exploitation of an education system, any individual has the potential to study and work their way out of impoverishment. This will not only have positive impacts on that individual, but also their family as well. Children of educated parents are more likely to become educated themselves. Therefore that one individual who worked their way out of poverty broke the cycle for their whole family.

In Nepal, I will be working to provide impoverished children with a quality education that will be helpful to breaking the cycle of poverty for their families. This is why it is so important for me to be prepared to teach any lesson to the best of my ability because the work I am doing truly has the potential to impact the students lives and possibly even the lives of their children.