Rebuilding Kathmandu - the seen and unseen

Nepal never fails to amaze me.  Resilience through and through.  I first arrived in Nepal fifteen years ago.  The royal family had just been assassinated.  The country was in complete turmoil.  Curfews every night, strikes throughout the day, and in the midst of a Maoist uprising which continued for a decade from 1996 until 2006.  And then of course the earthquake that shook the very core of the kingdom in April 2015. Scientists concur that tension is still building under the tectonic plates where just a slight shift, a movement for a minute or less could easily throw the country back up and land it in rubble.  India then enforced a fuel embargo on the recovering nation, which left massive cues of vehicles waiting (for days) outside gas stations and a bitter winter where people just trying to survive cut down whatever trees they could find to heat their homes and cook their food.  Now even though the embargo has been lifted the fuel shortage is still dire.  The poor quality black market fuel has also left many people in the city sick with chest infections respiratory problems.  Nepal now ranks 177 out of 178 countries for air quality.

Likewise, even though buildings have began to be reconstructed, thousands of families still live under plastic tarpaulins, just a stones throw away from where I am sitting.  And I am sitting directly in front of Boudhanath stupa.  Declared a UNESCO heritage site in 1979, and constructed  somewhere around the 4^th or the 5^th century.  Boudhanath even pre-dates  Kathmandu as a pivotal pit stop on the trade route from Tibet to India.  However, the largest stupa in the world also faltered under the tremor of the earthquake.  It is now topless. Right now hundreds of Tibetan and Nepali Buddhists are circumnavigating the fallen stupa.  It is sunset and time for a dedicated daily ritual. Reconstruction began with the ritual placement of a new central pole or "life tree" for the stupa at the top of the dome.  Piles of bricks are situated ramshackle all around it, along with wooden scaffolding where teams of men and women have been working on its reconstruction.  In contrast to many of the other national heritage sites in Kathmandu affected by the earthquake, Boudhanath was the first to be reconstructed.  The Nepali government refused help from international archaeologists for the reconstruction of its ancient sites, and apart from the self-funded and motivated Tibetan community at Boudha, little work has been done on the other affected sites.  Politics, money and corruption merge, and people complain daily that if only a small percentage of the money that flowed into Nepal after the earthquake had gone to rebuilding infrastructure the country would be as good as new.  That isn’t the case, and the thoughts of the powerful monsoon rain hold a more immediate threat than another quake.

In the background stands Kopan monastery – the working monastery founded to share Tibetan Buddhism with seekers from the West.  Which brings in the other reminder – of the fusion of Kingdoms which Nepal now represents, with a huge population of first to fourth generation Tibetan refugees.  Yet what is missing right now is one of Nepal’s major sources of income – tourism.  The manager of the café I am in joked that “they are on their way – as we speak – thousands of people travelling to Nepal”.  I’m sitting on an empty rooftop with spectacular views.  Including so much of that which is unseen.  

My last visit to Nepal was three years ago.  It is shocking to see what has fallen to the ground.  Yet what has risen (yet again) is a collective movement towards rebuilding life.  When I was in Kolkata just a few weeks ago, it word had it that the earthquake had rapidly increased the number of trafficked children and women to India.  Massive numbers of displaced families meant it was even easier for traffickers to trick, lure or steal girls to sell into bonded slavery and prostitution.  An unofficial estimate of an NGO in Kathmandu says that, at any point of time, brothels in India house around 150,000 to 400,000 girls from the Himalayan country.

Just as the rest of my trip has been guided by spontaneity, the same applies to landing here in Nepal.  It was unexpected and primarily to renew my Indian visa.  Yet this is my sixth visit to Nepal and on many occasions I have had the opportunity of being able to work here.  One of the projects I worked on was a study of the effects of the conflict on children and in particular in regards to infectious diseases.  The research revealed that many children moved to the streets either to earn money or because the men of the family had left to work in India or the Middle East (Nepal still has a huge migrant workforce).  Likewise many girls and young women began to work in bars – small establishments which go hand in hand with lap dancing and prostitution.  As a result there had been a rapid increase in HIV/AIDS.  

I have been fortunate enough to connect with some wonderful organizations working to rehabilitate survivors of trafficking and provide skills to girls and women who wanted to move out of a profession they had never intended to be in.  Today I ran a workshop for women who were now reintegrated back into their family life.  My intention was simply to provide some relief through movement.  Yet my workshop was perfectly timed to end after a session by a psychotherapist on feeling , recognizing and integrating emotions.  After just one hour of “play” we had covered a great deal of material.  The same themes appeared as in Kolkata:  The women are so busy taking care of others that the very idea of even “feeling” the body was a totally new concept.  Basic movements were a struggle, and this shocked them.  Very quickly they said they felt “relaxed”.  I asked them to share about their experiences and after ever answer from the sixteen women I realized that I continue to underestimate the effect of sharing this practice with survivors.  As a result, the team asked me to go back tomorrow and run a workshop with their staff.  The aim is to provide them with tools to allow the women and children they work with to physically embody the concepts they are teaching.  Amazed at how my work keeps going deeper, how it is able to be guided by the participants, and due to its very simplicity, how it can have profound effects in a very short time. 

Survival Dance

Women’s circles happen all around the world.  Whether it be the gathering of pregnant women, the meeting of mothers who have lost husbands and sons fighting different sides of the same war, to the rather controversial circles of generating “abundance” at the expense of the less savvy, persuasive  or connected “spiritual” sisters.  The origins of the circle is of course the fire – that all sit around and as a consequence are equally seen.  All are equal.  Today the women were invited to share their stories in counsel.  Whatever they shared would not leave the room, all was welcome.  It was a space to verbalize what needed to be said.  The topics discussed today were far more serve than I would ever hear back home.  It makes concerns I myself have once shared seem frivolous, indulgent even.  Almost as if those of us who have no real challenges need to dig deep to find something to talk about.   What was voiced will remain sacred.  Yet what I will say is that even without the translation, the tears which flowed, almost as if they were infectious, felt like poison leaking out from vessels that had been holding pain for far too long.  I felt those tears deep in my being.  And the verb “courage” and noun “warrior” neatly reflect the quality and essence of those who spoke.  The story teller dancer gave a perfect closure to the session.  She spoke of the necessity of women to unite in order for peace to prevail.  That women not only have the potential but the responsibility to guide the human race forwards.  That the force of women united in their refusal to bow down or be divided by the demands, violence or fears of men, contains such a power that no abuse or diminishing can withstand.  My own past failings leap into my mind. Yet the remedy for regret was one of the silent themes of the whole workshop: That each and every moment is pregnant with new beginnings.  Beginnings held prisoner only by our own self judgments and refusal to move forwards.  The counsel was closed with a recording of a song by Greek Gypsy women.  It was entitled “the country of my heart”.

The final aspect of the workshop was a performance.  The eighty nine children plus staff from Asha gathered in the courtyard.  A row of chairs were set up for the women and staff and a wonderful melody of music and sharing followed.

From the outside the gathering could appear to be pretty ordinary.  Yet underneath the surface it was so much more.  The gathering of the children of migrant workers, children dancing their liberation, the right to education, their solidarity in opportunity.  Women disguised as witches, refusing to accept the label they had been given and instead dancing in dignity – together.  The first performance was given by a group of older girls.  Singing to a beautiful melody and accompanied by a drummer banging out beats on a worn out drum.  They held hands and skipped simple steps around an invisible circle.  The women watched intently as if they were witnessing shadows of their former selves; delighting in the gift of youth. Next up were the women, they were all wearing matching white saris with a red trim which had been loaned by Asha for the purpose of performances such as this.  The costume in itself was already a novelty, yet so was having an attentive audience.  An audience that had no agenda to condemn or criticize, simply to receive the gift they were giving as ancient bodies were filled with the ageless spirit birthed in the sound of music.  Finally came dance of the story teller dancer.  She donned a mask (which in a wonderful weaving of connection had been craved in Bali) and flowing robes. She moved with grace and beauty through time and dimensions.  Her final act was reminiscent of the sufi dancers – a spiraling to the Divine, spinning out to spin in, building momentum to find complete stillness.  The women and children alike were mesmerized.  And I felt so proud to be part of this incredible and equally diverse group of female facilitators.

The workshop was sealed with a gift to each of the women.  It was a gift of a new sari.  A physical, tangible, present for them to take home.  A token that they were worth so much more than the thread worn saris they had arrived in.  And the seeds which they had planted during these few days would (if they allowed) were to flourish and grow.  Even if the external remains stuck in superstition, they needn’t be trapped forever as victims.  I  truly feel that if they are able to nurture the immense and natural power they have within, then regardless of the barren land they would return to – a land which as we had heard was suffering a long drought of compassion – then their inner landscape can still become rich and full of promise. United together this could move mountains of intimidation.  One exception to this hope was a one woman called Reka.  Reka was still forbidden to return to her village.  She had no other women nearby.  She had nowhere to go.  Yet she held her head high, smiled widely and my colleagues in Kolkata promised her they would find a solution – perhaps even coming back to take her with them so she would at least have shelter and food; a safe home.

As the sun was about to set I whisked upstairs to sit on the roof.  To sit by myself as the day ushered in the night.  My Aquarius spirit never fails to guide me to the quiet places, the peaceful places, to the moments of tranquility within the chaos.  As the sky changed colours like a chameleon moving through contrasting landscapes, I bowed down in gratitude for all that these women had given to me.  And I rose with a new determination that I have so much more work to do – back home in Bali and around the world.  That I am free; free to move and to share these stories of liberation.  

Several kids appeared and broke my spell of introspection.  They collected drying items of laundry from retired bed frames.  At this point I realized that the small room which we had conducted the whole workshop was the room the women had slept each night in.  Eight mattress for eighteen women, and yet they had still wanted me to stay with them.   Music boomed from crackly speakers down in the courtyard.  Every child and woman was dancing full on.  Apparently this is the evening activity, and the perfect balance to the day time atmosphere of study and chores.  I bolted down the stairs, danced in the middle of children, staff and tribal women, song after song – East meets West and Beyond.

Finally I was dragged away.  A hundred hands grabbed me to stay.  Each woman put wrapped her palms around mine in a double Namaste, thumbs to third eyes and one by one we bowed deeply to the wisdom in one another, connected to the soul.  Good bye a thousand times.  “See you when?”  Next year; next lifetime?  Stay well sister, mother, grandmother.  Stay strong.

Later that night Urmi posted some photos from the day.  She added the following sentiments:

“Powerful and intense days in Jharkhand concludes in love and empathy.  Nothing could be more profound than hearing the stories of these forgotten women. The survivors of witchhunt left transformed by the meditative power of story dancing, play with clay, yoga and healing through love. They shared the horrific stories of brutality suffered and rose in courage and forgiveness.”

I’ve been meditating on the purpose of having a moral guide and developing an inner ethical compass.  Human nature or human nurture?  Perhaps it’s like the chicken and the egg.  I am not sure which one comes first.  If violence is innate and needs to be tamed, or compassion lies masked by the need to survive.  Yet most definitely the discipline of developing and maintaining a daily spiritual practice is singing out loudly to me.   Each night I have been sharing a bed with the story teller dancer.  A kindred spirit who has been dancing her work for much longer than I.  A quiet and humble mentor.  Often we speak without words and yet today has been so profound that I share with her I am often stuck between a life of service and a life of living.  She replied there is only one thing to do:  Do good and be good and this will take up most of your time.