The Karma* of Kathmandu

Sophia Hufford-Jones, 16
Wisconsin

Nepal is a country unlike any other place on earth. Kathmandu Valley is completely surrounded by the Himalaya Mountains, nestled in between China and India. It is literally near the top of the world on the opposite side of the globe from my home in Milwaukee. So, when I told my parents of my dream to do a summer internship in Nepal, they humored me and questioned how serious I was. I knew it would be nearly impossible to convince them to let me travel to a developing country just after a ten-year civil war, but something about Kathmandu stuck with me and wouldn’t let go.

After six months of research, contacting organizations and international volunteers, my parents began to realize how serious I was about traveling to Nepal. To pay for my trip, I landed a job at a fancy restaurant, working long weekend nights as a food runner. Through the wonders of the Internet, I found a Nepali family that rented out rooms to medical interns and I landed an internship at an English publication in Kathmandu. E-mails I’d received from directors of international nonprofits, a professional journalist, and a chief administrator of a hospital in Kathmandu convinced my parents that life in Nepal was safe. And, I pointed out, I was already a veteran domestic traveler who had navigated New York’s LaGuardia, Los Angeles’ LAX and Chicago’s O’Hare airports on my own. I was confident that I could handle the New Delhi, Amsterdam, and Kathmandu airports. My parents finally gave the OK. My distant dream was to become a reality

The First Good Omen

 Everything was planned. But the day before I was to leave for Nepal, I was visited by a good omen and an amazing fluke of fate. My grandmother in Iowa was reading the newspaper and noticed an article about Nepal’s new ambassador. The new appointee was an Iowa native and had been a schoolteacher at a tiny Iowa high school. My mother recognized the new ambassador’s name; Nancy J. Powell had been her history teacher 35 years before! So, it seemed, I had already experienced Kathmandu’s special karma.

Magical, Mystical Tour

After over two days in transit, I landed at Kathmandu’s airport. A new co-worker of mine picked me up on his motorbike and I struggled to hoist my ridiculously heavy bagpack on my back for the ride. As I motored through the streets of Kathmandu for the first time, I could hardly believe I was actually halfway around the world. Stepping out onto the balcony of the four-story building that would become my new home, I peered over the edge. The view was incredible. Colorful, bustling streets lay below, the sounds of Nepali music and laughter spilling from tea shops and temples. Prayer flags and brightly painted buildings. Rooftop gardens brimming with flowers. A misty mountain range surrounding the city.

"Colorful, bustling streets lay below, the sounds of Nepali music and laughter spilling from tea shops and temples. "

Rama, the house mother, was an amazing woman with a warm, earth mother persona. Every morning, we woke to hot tea and dalbat, the traditional Nepali meal of rice and lentils, which we ate twice a day, every day. Every Wednesday, the electricity would go out, so we would all sit together by candlelight and make dinner over a propane stove.

I immediately fell in love with Kathmandu. I loved the tiny fruit market that I passed on my way to work, with bananas hanging from the ceiling to the floor. I loved the groups of school children dressed in starched blue uniforms who would smile and yell, “Namaste*, Didi!” which means “Greetings, Sister” in Nepali. I loved the old man who would always try to convince me to let him polish my sneakers. I loved the little lizard that lived on my ceiling. I loved how the sun rose and the fruit man sang from the street below at five in the morning, my Kathmandu alarm clock.

Everywhere you turned there were amazing pictures waiting to be taken. Children selling bright pink cotton candy on tall sticks, Buddhist monks in maroon and orange, two thousand-year-old Buddhist temples and colorful statues of Hindu gods and goddesses. Naughty monkeys overran the temples, and cows––considered sacred by Hindus––wandered freely and snarled traffic for hours. Holy men, powdered a dusty grey and painted in hallucinogenic colors, carried orange flowers and wore dreadlocks, some to their knees. Street children––many of them homeless orphans––played in the Kathmandu rain. Sometimes I would sit at a temple for hours, just watching, wondering. I understood why Nepal is a country of pilgrimages in a constant quest to find inner peace. Perfection? I think so.

"Sometimes I would sit at a temple for hours, just watching, wondering. I understood why Nepal is a country of pilgrimages in a constant quest to find inner peace. Perfection? I think so."

One of my most memorable experiences was when a Nepali friend took me to the holy Bagmati River where I witnessed a Hindu cremation. The custom is to wrap the dead body in a white sheet and place it near the river on a stone pillar. The entire river is lined with these pillars. On one side of the river, commoners are cremated, and on the other, royalty and the wealthy. The eldest son in the family lights the sheet on fire where the face is covered. At first, this was deeply disturbing for me to watch. But, as I sat watching, it began to make sense. The face is the source of life and emotion. By lighting the face on fire, Hindus believe the soul of the person is released to rise into heaven. During the ceremony, the family chants and prays. Then, the ashes are sprinkled into the river with flower blossoms and carried away with the strong current. Go to page 2...

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