My Chaukati homestay started out a little different than I expected. I was homesick.
But not homesick for America. I was homesick for Southern Uganda.
The hills, the terraces, the houses, the people, the random goats and chickens wandering about and everything else I saw reminded me of my experiences in Eastern Africa and it made me miss it like I hadn't in a while.
After the first few days of adjusting to the slower paced village life my thoughts grew less and less self indulgent and I realized how truly amazing the similarities were. Nepal and Uganda are not actually that close to each other. How is it that they developed so congruently?
Then I thought a little more and realized that it's not just people in Nepal and Eastern Africa who live like this. Agricultural societies have developed all over the world completely independent from each other. On every habitable continent there were and are people who lived directly off and with the land. It's almost like it's the way we're supposed to live. Some people might say it's a little too relaxed, but, although it may look that way, I feel like the people really are always doing something. Whether it's cooking or washing or walking (trekking) up to their barn to get food for the animals or gathering firewood or checking for lice or simply wandering the countryside, they were always doing something. Maybe that's the difference. In the village there's a verb for simply wandering about aimlessly. It's a different perspective than that of most people in bigger cities.
Don't get me wrong. I adore the cites. I loved every minute of the bustling craziness of Kathmandu while I was there and I always love exploring cities in other parts of the world. I definitely think I'll live in one at some point during my life. But, that's not where my soul feels truly at home. It's sitting out there surrounded by green and brown and natural--surrounded by goats and buffalo and chicken--surrounded by flowers and bees and fleas--surrounded by people who feel the exact same way I do, that truly makes me feel at home.
I think one of the reasons why this discovery made me feel so conflicted was because I thought it made my future much more difficult. Where on earth am I going to live? I'm happy everywhere. I'll have to pick one place?
But then I realized (lots of realizations in Chaukati) that my being adaptable and comfortable in multiple places around the world was an extraordinary blessing. Anywhere I go I can find a quiet village like that one. Anywhere I go I can feel at home.
Another reason I think I was so baffled and almost annoyed by how similar it was was because my idea of these Eastern African villages were in my Eastern Africa box. I didn't understand why elements from my Eastern Africa box were suddenly popping up in my Nepal box.
Why do I have boxes? Part of this journey is about removing boxes, generalizations and stereotypes.
And that's when it hit me: we really are all the same. Sure, we're separated by oceans and deserts and cultures and languages, but deep down, we all came from the same thing. And instinctually, we would probably all live in pretty similar ways. Families are families and I'm now part of probably more than I can count. Nature is nature and we're all directly dependent on it in some way. We all need food, water and shelter. We all need love.
I'm homesick for Chaukati.
I miss the clean air and my bed on the balcony. I miss the light thunderstorms that would come almost without fail around 1 PM. I miss the giant boulders that are just part of the landscape and are perfect chatting or resting spots. I miss looking out into the mountains that might be clouded by a light fog but a fog of actual clouds and not pollution. My stomach has expanded enough to the point that it misses the lord knows how much rice it was eating (looked like it could fit in about 3 Nalgenes to me). I miss my family--my aapaa, mami, didi, baini, bhaai, and countless other random family members who came in and out of the house periodically. I miss my hajur aamaa trying to communicate with me through hand gestures. I miss my bhaai's fascination with my headlamp. I miss my baini's friends making fun of me. I miss my aapaa asking "where did you wander today?" every evening. I miss playing games in Nepali and not really knowing what was going on until everyone just starts tickling each other. I miss learning how to make mats out of corn husks and baskets out of bamboo. I miss washing my hair in the public taps. I miss hearing the rain on the roof and, however terrifying it was at the time, the rats scurrying across my legs as they try to get out of said rain. I miss the lizard randomly falling from the sky/ceiling only my lap as I sat journaling in bed. I miss my mouth burning at every meal.
I miss everything.
But, it's all part of the adventure. We meet people and become a family and then we move on. Tomorrow I'll be in a Tibetan Buddhist monastery committing myself to silence for the next ten days and I know that my time in the village has prepared me exactly for that. Each day I become more and more me. Each day I learn something.
But not homesick for America. I was homesick for Southern Uganda.
The hills, the terraces, the houses, the people, the random goats and chickens wandering about and everything else I saw reminded me of my experiences in Eastern Africa and it made me miss it like I hadn't in a while.
After the first few days of adjusting to the slower paced village life my thoughts grew less and less self indulgent and I realized how truly amazing the similarities were. Nepal and Uganda are not actually that close to each other. How is it that they developed so congruently?
Then I thought a little more and realized that it's not just people in Nepal and Eastern Africa who live like this. Agricultural societies have developed all over the world completely independent from each other. On every habitable continent there were and are people who lived directly off and with the land. It's almost like it's the way we're supposed to live. Some people might say it's a little too relaxed, but, although it may look that way, I feel like the people really are always doing something. Whether it's cooking or washing or walking (trekking) up to their barn to get food for the animals or gathering firewood or checking for lice or simply wandering the countryside, they were always doing something. Maybe that's the difference. In the village there's a verb for simply wandering about aimlessly. It's a different perspective than that of most people in bigger cities.
Don't get me wrong. I adore the cites. I loved every minute of the bustling craziness of Kathmandu while I was there and I always love exploring cities in other parts of the world. I definitely think I'll live in one at some point during my life. But, that's not where my soul feels truly at home. It's sitting out there surrounded by green and brown and natural--surrounded by goats and buffalo and chicken--surrounded by flowers and bees and fleas--surrounded by people who feel the exact same way I do, that truly makes me feel at home.
I think one of the reasons why this discovery made me feel so conflicted was because I thought it made my future much more difficult. Where on earth am I going to live? I'm happy everywhere. I'll have to pick one place?
But then I realized (lots of realizations in Chaukati) that my being adaptable and comfortable in multiple places around the world was an extraordinary blessing. Anywhere I go I can find a quiet village like that one. Anywhere I go I can feel at home.
Another reason I think I was so baffled and almost annoyed by how similar it was was because my idea of these Eastern African villages were in my Eastern Africa box. I didn't understand why elements from my Eastern Africa box were suddenly popping up in my Nepal box.
Why do I have boxes? Part of this journey is about removing boxes, generalizations and stereotypes.
And that's when it hit me: we really are all the same. Sure, we're separated by oceans and deserts and cultures and languages, but deep down, we all came from the same thing. And instinctually, we would probably all live in pretty similar ways. Families are families and I'm now part of probably more than I can count. Nature is nature and we're all directly dependent on it in some way. We all need food, water and shelter. We all need love.
What am I realizing now?
I miss the clean air and my bed on the balcony. I miss the light thunderstorms that would come almost without fail around 1 PM. I miss the giant boulders that are just part of the landscape and are perfect chatting or resting spots. I miss looking out into the mountains that might be clouded by a light fog but a fog of actual clouds and not pollution. My stomach has expanded enough to the point that it misses the lord knows how much rice it was eating (looked like it could fit in about 3 Nalgenes to me). I miss my family--my aapaa, mami, didi, baini, bhaai, and countless other random family members who came in and out of the house periodically. I miss my hajur aamaa trying to communicate with me through hand gestures. I miss my bhaai's fascination with my headlamp. I miss my baini's friends making fun of me. I miss my aapaa asking "where did you wander today?" every evening. I miss playing games in Nepali and not really knowing what was going on until everyone just starts tickling each other. I miss learning how to make mats out of corn husks and baskets out of bamboo. I miss washing my hair in the public taps. I miss hearing the rain on the roof and, however terrifying it was at the time, the rats scurrying across my legs as they try to get out of said rain. I miss the lizard randomly falling from the sky/ceiling only my lap as I sat journaling in bed. I miss my mouth burning at every meal.
I miss everything.
But, it's all part of the adventure. We meet people and become a family and then we move on. Tomorrow I'll be in a Tibetan Buddhist monastery committing myself to silence for the next ten days and I know that my time in the village has prepared me exactly for that. Each day I become more and more me. Each day I learn something.
My what a wonderfully thoughtful post. Thanks for making two distant places seem real through your clear young eyes.
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