December 6, 2008
Last night, I arrived at Chapagaon, the village where I will be living and working for the next month. I am currently staying with the Maharjan family who regularly takes in volunteers posted at the local health clinic, orphanage, and elementary schools. I have so much to say about this thriving rural community and its incredibly hospitable inhabitants, but I’ll have to save that for a later post because this one is dedicated to my rather intense first day.
On Saturday, I dropped by the Primary Health Care and Resource Center (PRCRC) to get myself “orientated.” As luck would have it, I arrived just as a patient was entering her second stage of labor so, instead of getting a tour of the premises, I was hastily steered into the birthing room, handed a nylon apron, and situated a mere two feet away from a fully dilated cervix.
When observing a live birth for the first time, one might expect to be wholly focused on the “nether regions,” but the first thing I noticed was the patient’s face; the mother-to-be looked far too young to be in this position. My jaw almost hit the floor—or at least the patient’s foot—when I glanced at her chart and realized she was barely 21… and giving birth to her second child. The girl was obviously in tremendous pain, but never once did she let out anything louder than a low moan. A grueling hour later, the baby began to crown. For anyone who’s seen Knocked Up, I promise you, it’s even stranger up close and personal. I like to believe that I’m not squeamish when it comes to blood/guts/the whole shebang, but nothing, NOTHING, could have prepared me for the moment when the nurse grabbed a pair of shears and swiftly (and I’ll put this in the least graphic way possible) enlarged the opening by at least an inch so that the head could slide out with minimal damage. Luckily, I wasn’t so perturbed that I missed the timing of the birth and after a few tense seconds of staring at the wrinkly, blue little bundle of Munchkin goo, I was able to whisper, “Male. Time of birth, 11:47am.” Afterward, I busied myself with weighing the newborn (3kgs) and tucking him into his makeshift cradle/manger—not only because I wanted to better inspect this tiny new specimen of human life, but also because I needed a moment to get used to the sight of the nurse patching up the damage inflicted by those treacherous shears. Once all the vitals were taken and the mess cleared away, I was whisked off to begin my grand tour.
I returned to the Maharjans’ home in a bit of a daze and looking forward to a shower and a nap, but I was met at the threshold by my host brother, Niroj (age 20), and his two cousins, Puru (27) and Kapil (28). They had come to take me to a friend’s wedding where I would be able to not only attend the ceremony, but also partake in the subsequent banquet.
The moment I stepped onto the temple grounds, all thoughts of speculums and placentas vanished. The cobblestones were strewn with red and yellow powders, flowers, uncooked rice and fruit and the picnic area was roped off with strings of halogen lights and brilliant tapestries; at the center of the temple stood the brightly clad guests, crowded around the kneeling bride and groom. One they were pronounced husband and wife, we all moved over to the banquet mats and were 
served the most incredible Newari feast. There was chiura (beaten rice), tarkari (heavily spiced vegetables), achaar (chili sauce), choyla (a smoky buffalo barbeque), tawkhaa (curried, jellied buffalo meat), daal (lentil), tahma (bamboo casserole), chiya (tea), jaad (rice beer) and other traditional delicacies. Over the next hour, I ate more than I’ve ever eaten in my entire life. I thought polishing off the Domino’s 5-5-5 special in less than 4 hours was a brag-worthy feat, but this took marathon eating to a whole new level. A stream of servers made their way around the guests and the second you were half-finished with your tarkari or choyla, someone swooped in to replenish your already laden plate. The Newaris eat with their hands, using their index, middle, and ring fingers to scoop up the food and their thumb to push it into the mouth; incidentally, the guests found it hilarious to watch me give myself a curry facial.
After eating, we washed up and took our turns serving the next batch of hungry diners. Everyone shared a good-natured laugh while watching the foreigner awkwardly make her rounds with a basket of chiura. One old man gently clasped my arm as I was ladling out some daal and told me in broken English that his whole family was “so happy that American make party with us.” Suffice it to say, I was overwhelmed by the Nepalese hospitality. Everyone was genuinely eager to talk and take pictures, or if unable to speak English, flash a warm smile. That night, I walked home bloated with rice and exhilaration and could hardly fall asleep in anticipation of the upcoming month. I already know that I won’t ever want to leave and have no doubt that I am going to have the time of my life.
Last night, I arrived at Chapagaon, the village where I will be living and working for the next month. I am currently staying with the Maharjan family who regularly takes in volunteers posted at the local health clinic, orphanage, and elementary schools. I have so much to say about this thriving rural community and its incredibly hospitable inhabitants, but I’ll have to save that for a later post because this one is dedicated to my rather intense first day.
On Saturday, I dropped by the Primary Health Care and Resource Center (PRCRC) to get myself “orientated.” As luck would have it, I arrived just as a patient was entering her second stage of labor so, instead of getting a tour of the premises, I was hastily steered into the birthing room, handed a nylon apron, and situated a mere two feet away from a fully dilated cervix.
When observing a live birth for the first time, one might expect to be wholly focused on the “nether regions,” but the first thing I noticed was the patient’s face; the mother-to-be looked far too young to be in this position. My jaw almost hit the floor—or at least the patient’s foot—when I glanced at her chart and realized she was barely 21… and giving birth to her second child. The girl was obviously in tremendous pain, but never once did she let out anything louder than a low moan. A grueling hour later, the baby began to crown. For anyone who’s seen Knocked Up, I promise you, it’s even stranger up close and personal. I like to believe that I’m not squeamish when it comes to blood/guts/the whole shebang, but nothing, NOTHING, could have prepared me for the moment when the nurse grabbed a pair of shears and swiftly (and I’ll put this in the least graphic way possible) enlarged the opening by at least an inch so that the head could slide out with minimal damage. Luckily, I wasn’t so perturbed that I missed the timing of the birth and after a few tense seconds of staring at the wrinkly, blue little bundle of Munchkin goo, I was able to whisper, “Male. Time of birth, 11:47am.” Afterward, I busied myself with weighing the newborn (3kgs) and tucking him into his makeshift cradle/manger—not only because I wanted to better inspect this tiny new specimen of human life, but also because I needed a moment to get used to the sight of the nurse patching up the damage inflicted by those treacherous shears. Once all the vitals were taken and the mess cleared away, I was whisked off to begin my grand tour.I returned to the Maharjans’ home in a bit of a daze and looking forward to a shower and a nap, but I was met at the threshold by my host brother, Niroj (age 20), and his two cousins, Puru (27) and Kapil (28). They had come to take me to a friend’s wedding where I would be able to not only attend the ceremony, but also partake in the subsequent banquet.
The moment I stepped onto the temple grounds, all thoughts of speculums and placentas vanished. The cobblestones were strewn with red and yellow powders, flowers, uncooked rice and fruit and the picnic area was roped off with strings of halogen lights and brilliant tapestries; at the center of the temple stood the brightly clad guests, crowded around the kneeling bride and groom. One they were pronounced husband and wife, we all moved over to the banquet mats and were 
served the most incredible Newari feast. There was chiura (beaten rice), tarkari (heavily spiced vegetables), achaar (chili sauce), choyla (a smoky buffalo barbeque), tawkhaa (curried, jellied buffalo meat), daal (lentil), tahma (bamboo casserole), chiya (tea), jaad (rice beer) and other traditional delicacies. Over the next hour, I ate more than I’ve ever eaten in my entire life. I thought polishing off the Domino’s 5-5-5 special in less than 4 hours was a brag-worthy feat, but this took marathon eating to a whole new level. A stream of servers made their way around the guests and the second you were half-finished with your tarkari or choyla, someone swooped in to replenish your already laden plate. The Newaris eat with their hands, using their index, middle, and ring fingers to scoop up the food and their thumb to push it into the mouth; incidentally, the guests found it hilarious to watch me give myself a curry facial.
After eating, we washed up and took our turns serving the next batch of hungry diners. Everyone shared a good-natured laugh while watching the foreigner awkwardly make her rounds with a basket of chiura. One old man gently clasped my arm as I was ladling out some daal and told me in broken English that his whole family was “so happy that American make party with us.” Suffice it to say, I was overwhelmed by the Nepalese hospitality. Everyone was genuinely eager to talk and take pictures, or if unable to speak English, flash a warm smile. That night, I walked home bloated with rice and exhilaration and could hardly fall asleep in anticipation of the upcoming month. I already know that I won’t ever want to leave and have no doubt that I am going to have the time of my life.
haha these pictures are straight up ads for the peace corps
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