EEEtheWorld

HalliEEE

EEE’ing the World….WHAT!? EEEEE is a sound, a sight, a scent, a taste, a feeling, an Extraordinarily Ebullient Experience – that particular onomatopoeia which crosses communication barriers no matter where you are in THE WORLD to Express Existent, Emotional Elation. EEEEE IS...

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Books – EEEtheWorld

I do not even know how to begin. I guess with the physical weight I feel across my heart in first experiencing the Cambodian school I’m teaching at for the next two weeks. Why do I feel like erupting into tears? It’s a similar feeling to that I had on the back of pi lak’s motorbike. How can some have so much and be so miserable and some have so little and be so sweet? It’s a fickle world we live in. This trodden feeling I have is helplessness maybe- where do I begin to help? And what will help!? Money, time, a voice? Luckily the universe has blessed me with all three so I feel perhaps a calling to act everyday to spread this wealth. I guess this aligns with my passion of education and exploration of the world. This is an enlightening EEE moment.
First day of school:
The faces pierce me first. The smiles that burry contrite emotions of the one teacher and two administrative fellows who run the entire save children and communities development organization’s south Phnom Penh school. We arrived via Tuk Tuk after classes had started for the morning, but in retrospect of the AM, I question, if we as volunteers aren’t at the head of the classroom, who is?
The 20 minute tuktuk ride through ‘real Cambodian living’ is littered with plastic bags, bottles, cans, all faded this dusty color, faded by the sun and environment with certainly no sign of decomposing. The amount of litter, it is over whelming. And judgement hit me first, really questioning how an entire population can live in such filth? Why doesn’t anyone care to pick this up? Then my narrow minded western suburban lense slapped me across the face upon realizing- there is no designated place to put it, and no organization to come pick it up and put it there. So for all the times I’ve complained about hauling the garbage 20m to the end of the driveway, I am sorry. And then I begin to wonder how many of these country dwellers, forced to the city to find work which averages $80 USD a month if lucky, miss the serenity of nature, or understand an outsiders perception of ‘living in filth’. 

The Tuk Tuk pattered to a stop on a small dirt road, after twisting around the part of the city that the faint of heart does not want to see. From the dilapidated buildings surrounding us, I questioned, are we here? Where’s the school? Where’s the children’s laughter? It sounds like we are in a major construction zone. The Tuk Tuk driver needed to reassure us and give us another nudge in the direction of two men. I wonder what our faces looked like to them- immediately our politeness took over and the confusion in our eyes before was now matched with welcomes. Pero nate and (3rd teachers name) seemed so very grateful to meet us. Yung is from China, and michelle and I from the states. Like any formal first meeting, they welcomed us into the "office" to sit down and better understand our teaching experience and what level we should be placed in. The office had no electricity,and to get there, we needed to climb over metal poles covering the floor. They apologized for the noise- they are building walls. Until a $2000 donation came from one of the volunteers last week, the school did not have walls.

Young was to my left, michelle to my right, seated on a wicker sofa across from these three men. Cara another teacher with CVF came in too holding pinaud’s hand. We teach from 8-9 with a fifteen minute break then 9:15 to 10. To my understanding this am class then leaves for lunch and government school or work. We return to teach the pm kids 2-3′ 3:15-4. I am not a formally trained teacher, but they did not even care. I speak English and have zero criminal background. That’s it. That’s how desperate they are to educate these children.
My teaching experience comes from Thailand with the mirror foundation and some volunteer work inner city in the states. These programs were filled with resources of flash cards and games and books and markers and beads. SCCDO now has walls and that is an accomplishment. This school has courage and volunteers and energetic, smiling, bright children who are so thankful for what they have. Yet, this school barely has a foundation. There’s a tin roof and 4 10×10 areas separated by new thin plywood walls, and a whiteboard in each classroom. There are four whiteboard markers and one whiteboard eraser. So any time the board is filled and you need to erase, one of the students in the back has to pop over to whatever classroom had the eraser last. By the end of the hour, I had used my skirt to wipe the board and even a crumpled up piece of paper. I didn’t even want to use the sheet of paper Tepy eagerly ripped from her Winnie the Pooh notebook, because each child only has one notebook. They share pens.
There are no books, not one single children’s book on nonexistent shelves. I had asked the teachers… What do the students like and not like? Cheerfully Piro said, "They don’t like to read because it difficult to pronounce English aloud." Embarrassed they laughed and we smiled. I thought oh, great, I will practice this, so I asked about any books, and that’s when my heart sank- smiles remaining, but their eyes changing. There are no books. Zero books. Not one story in the entire school. 
To think about the library in my elementary school, or snuggling up on my kindergarten teachers lap for a story, or even the multitude of workbooks for every subject and taking this for granted my entire life brings weight to my chest. But I cannot sit here and feel guilty. I will be creative in my teaching with one marker. The ten, "level three" kids I have are starting to be conversational and write sentences with tenses or change verbs into adverbs. I tell myself I will make a difference in the two weeks I have with them. And afterwards I vow to fill their school with books and resources to maximize their learning potential.
The gratefulness and joy and sincerity in their hearts fills mine.
I’m going to go plan out two weeks of lessons now, with just my brain, their attentiveness and a marker, wish me luck!

    

 

Posted on January 3rd, 2020

Big Big DrEEEams – EEEtheWorld

Maybe in a past life I lived in Texas. Go big or go home tends to align with every goal I set. I dream big. As an eight year old into drama, I’d dress up in this olive green dress and practice my Oscar speech for best actress in the mirror. (Still working on this one). In high school I aspired to have the entire junior class attend the Halloween dance. (It wasn’t the entire class, but it got so out of control they canceled it the following years ). In college, I wanted to raise overs $100k for ZTA foundation’s support of breast cancer education and awareness during BMOC, nearly a $10k increase from the following year (we raised $111K). I applied to a top international relations school and just got my acceptance letter today! And now I want to fund the entire sustainable agriculture program for SCCDO where I am teaching in cambodia to feed the school kids and give them proper nutrition, a $15k undertaking just to get started. Approx $885 dollars a month just for food. TOO BIG!?
The executive director of SCCDO, Piseth, visited us in the classrooms today and later sat us down in the hot box office to share his story. We choked back tears as his twisted childhood and loss of his father during Khmer Rouge made its way to our hearts. The history of the school is quite inspirational, but the funds to keep this NGO dream of housing orphans, feeding impoverished children, and providing them with an education, are dwindling. My heart sinks knowing the three teachers are working without a salary. It’s the wetness in their eyes, and the selflessness of their souls that makes me want to drop everything in my life and help them in a big way. TOO BIG?
But reality and corruption and trust takes its toll on your mind. There is a lot of corruption in Cambodia and you wonder who and how to trust. Will you ever truly know where your money is going? One reassuring aspect is the construction impeding on our classrooms’ attention span (walls are drilled and placed as we teach) is direct action from the $2000 donation a volunteer gave last week. The couple from Norway, who are the most financially sound donars of SCCDO, visited the school to see its progress, just yesterday.
And then I tell myself just to focus small. Instead of trying to fund an entire program, maybe just buy a sachel of rice to feed the kids for one week.  Where is my line? How do I balance my compassion against reality? When do I take a step back and accept that just my time teaching is making a difference? At what point is my effort enough? 
They are so grateful for anything. I am grateful to be here with the children and doing my best explaining composition and the differences between writing in first and third person (today’s lesson).
One breath, one small step at a time. I can dream big, but I have to just have patience and accept my efforts to get there. Think global act local is a good mantra for me. If day by day I am making a difference in myself, with a child, in a community, maybe it’s that string of events that changes the world for the better. At least I hope so.
Cheers,
Hallie

    

 

Posted on January 3rd, 2020

Sokah and Chum Mey: a real perspective on Resilience post S-21 – EEEtheWorld

March 7, 2015

Sokah and Chum Mey: a real perspective on Resilience post S-21

This photograph may appear elegant until you understand the haunting history which took place here. At the “S-21” Tuol Sleng Prison over 12,000 innocent Cambodian intellectuals were tortured to death or hauled to the killing fields during the Khmer Rouge regime from 1975 to 1979. The photo on the wall shows a prisoner drowned in a bath of his own blood, his ankles swollen from the metal chains and severe dehydration. His body was left decomposing to be gutted by pigs. This was the nicest cell. Most were 1/16th this size with no beds- Only cement floors, chains, and the tin toilet box pictured.
 Our tour guides name was Sokah. She was ten years old when she was separated from her family and forced to work digging irrigation ditches under Khmer Rouges’ rouse for an agrarian peasent society. Reading a bit of history, I predicted the visit at S-21 would be tough, but reality pierced me within seconds of speaking with this Cambodian lady. Not my wildest nightmares could prepare me for the personal horrors she experienced as a child. I did not expect to be speaking, holding hands, and fighting tears with a woman who lived through the Cambodian genocide.  She spoke of terror I cannot even imagine. “So hungry. So sad. Lice not just in hair but eating body.” She says she still cannot understand why this happened. “No reason. Why!? So sad.” She swears the census underestimates the Khmer Rouge  devastation. Her guess from what she witnessed is the population of Cambodia decreased from 7 million in 1974 to 3 million in 1981, including babies born.
 I feel disgusted and so ignorant I was never taught this in school. This morning I took a picture with Chum Mey, one of the seven survivors of this dungeon. I held his hands, I peered into his cataract covered irises. And he smiled at me despite living through hell. Everything was so momentary but makes torture real to me in a way I’ve never understood and cannot explain.   These survivors, this population, are resilient beyond words to live through what they have, and continually share their story. Both Chum Mey and Sokah are ordinary tour guides at this museum, but extraordinary humans.
Tonight I sit solemnly reading Chum Mey’s story from his life as a boy running naked through his village to his arrest for being “too good of a mechanic” in 1974. All I muster is sobs. Like Sokah, you do question why, and you do have to accept, “no reason” as an answer. To me, nothing can justify this genocide, any genocide for that matter. 
But I’m sickened I barely knew this story until today and I’m sickened knowing there are so many more.
 Cambodia is still a very fragile place and so many countryside citizens are taken advantage of everyday. The NGO workers, the teachers, the lady at the market I’ve met, have little voice despite how hard they work. Just yesterday, an entire village of five families showed up starving at the NGOs door. The government sold their lands and forced them to evacuate with no solutions, or rice. Innocent people are worked to death of deforestation by the hundreds every week.  What does one do? My compassion hurts.
 Despite this horrific reality, I’m so grateful I’m here to meet these beautiful people and share their dreams. Cambodia I wish to give you a stronger voice and wrap my soul around yours. Come here, all people, and experience this haven of hope, this land of resilient spirits and lend a helping hand and listen and share.





    

 

HallieLou

Eating, Educating, and Exploring my way through this world!

Posted on January 3rd, 2020

Sokah and Chum Mey: a real perspective on Resilience post S-21 – EEEtheWorld

March 7, 2015

Sokah and Chum Mey: a real perspective on Resilience post S-21

This photograph may appear elegant until you understand the haunting history which took place here. At the “S-21” Tuol Sleng Prison over 12,000 innocent Cambodian intellectuals were tortured to death or hauled to the killing fields during the Khmer Rouge regime from 1975 to 1979. The photo on the wall shows a prisoner drowned in a bath of his own blood, his ankles swollen from the metal chains and severe dehydration. His body was left decomposing to be gutted by pigs. This was the nicest cell. Most were 1/16th this size with no beds- Only cement floors, chains, and the tin toilet box pictured.
 Our tour guides name was Sokah. She was ten years old when she was separated from her family and forced to work digging irrigation ditches under Khmer Rouges’ rouse for an agrarian peasent society. Reading a bit of history, I predicted the visit at S-21 would be tough, but reality pierced me within seconds of speaking with this Cambodian lady. Not my wildest nightmares could prepare me for the personal horrors she experienced as a child. I did not expect to be speaking, holding hands, and fighting tears with a woman who lived through the Cambodian genocide.  She spoke of terror I cannot even imagine. “So hungry. So sad. Lice not just in hair but eating body.” She says she still cannot understand why this happened. “No reason. Why!? So sad.” She swears the census underestimates the Khmer Rouge  devastation. Her guess from what she witnessed is the population of Cambodia decreased from 7 million in 1974 to 3 million in 1981, including babies born.
 I feel disgusted and so ignorant I was never taught this in school. This morning I took a picture with Chum Mey, one of the seven survivors of this dungeon. I held his hands, I peered into his cataract covered irises. And he smiled at me despite living through hell. Everything was so momentary but makes torture real to me in a way I’ve never understood and cannot explain.   These survivors, this population, are resilient beyond words to live through what they have, and continually share their story. Both Chum Mey and Sokah are ordinary tour guides at this museum, but extraordinary humans.
Tonight I sit solemnly reading Chum Mey’s story from his life as a boy running naked through his village to his arrest for being “too good of a mechanic” in 1974. All I muster is sobs. Like Sokah, you do question why, and you do have to accept, “no reason” as an answer. To me, nothing can justify this genocide, any genocide for that matter. 
But I’m sickened I barely knew this story until today and I’m sickened knowing there are so many more.
 Cambodia is still a very fragile place and so many countryside citizens are taken advantage of everyday. The NGO workers, the teachers, the lady at the market I’ve met, have little voice despite how hard they work. Just yesterday, an entire village of five families showed up starving at the NGOs door. The government sold their lands and forced them to evacuate with no solutions, or rice. Innocent people are worked to death of deforestation by the hundreds every week.  What does one do? My compassion hurts.
 Despite this horrific reality, I’m so grateful I’m here to meet these beautiful people and share their dreams. Cambodia I wish to give you a stronger voice and wrap my soul around yours. Come here, all people, and experience this haven of hope, this land of resilient spirits and lend a helping hand and listen and share.





    

 

HallieLou

Eating, Educating, and Exploring my way through this world!

Posted on January 3rd, 2020

I have been accepted to DENVER UNIVERSITY’s JOSEF KORBEL SCHOOL OF INTERNATIONAL STUDIES!!!! – EEEtheWorld

March 10, 2015

I have been accepted to DENVER UNIVERSITY’s JOSEF KORBEL SCHOOL OF INTERNATIONAL STUDIES!!!!

On the Cambodian rooftop eating a savory and fatty pork grizzle, rice, and egg lunch from the street I open my gmail to find that I have been accepted to DENVER UNIVERSITY’s JOSEF KORBEL SCHOOL OF INTERNATIONAL STUDIES!!!!

One of the top international relations schools on the Globe- #11.
This was the original school I started looking into when teaching in Thailand, and 3 months later, after spontaneously taking the GRE, rallying my mentors for recommendations, and researching international school lunch policy, I am very pleased to report all our work has paid off.
A tremendous thanks to Howard Fisher, Nikki Dand, Kris Wolcott, Darrin Grove, and Theresa Lehman for your support in my mission at Korbel and the accolades you shared with the admissions department. I will not let you down.
And to my family for standing behind my serendipitous leap of faith to quit my job, leave my comfort zone and see the world.
I am still waiting to hear back from CSU and Univeristy Of Colorado, Denver, but this opportunity and acceptance to DU confirms that I will be headed west soon.
If you believe in yourself, have an attitude that changes ordeals into adventures, and move forward altruisticslly one breath, one step at time you’ll create a truly enjoyable life in this world.

    

 

HallieLou

Eating, Educating, and Exploring my way through this world!

Posted on January 3rd, 2020

Cold Hands, Controlled Mind – EEEtheWorld

April 17, 2015

Cold Hands, Controlled Mind

Fingers numb under wool gloves against the icy Wisconsin winter, I used to complain of my hands freezing in pain. With a sly smile, my father, a brilliant man, would respond "it’s all in your mind". In frustration, I would rip off my gloves and fret that it is not in my mind because my hands are physically cold and purple and losing feeling. 

He’d advise me to pretend they were warm, burning even, by a fire. Tell yourself the warmth feels good instead. See the flicker of orange warming your palms. Really feel the heat in your mind. Feel it flow all the way down to the tips of your fingers. Then they will be warm. And warm is what you want….right? Then stop thinking about it all together. Your hands will be fine. Your body can take it. They are warm. Focus on the fish we are trying to catch. 
Minutes would pass, me grimacing, contemplating if infact my ice fishing father was a Sconnie lunatic; And I wouldn’t be able to take my arresting thoughts away from my numb, frost bitten fingertips.
But then we’d get a nibble. Suddenly my focus would be on the perch… the northern..the bluegill… What fish is biting our bait beneath the ice? Without realizing, my mind shifted from my chilled, pained hands to the fish we were about to catch. I’d stare at the bobber dipping ever so slightly under the calm dark lake water. I’d strain my eyes and hold my breath in excitement, willing the fish to chomp on our line. 
Before the bobber went completely under, before the fish took hold, my dad pulled up the line. 
"But we almost had him!" I shrieked. "Why didn’t you let him eat the bait!?"
"Now, are your hands cold or warm?" He asked. Then he smiled, and left me on the ice.
20 years later, in Rishikesh, India after hours of asanas and pranayamas and meditative mind control, I finally understand this lesson.
I remember thinking as soon as he asked me- I have no idea- Are my hands warm or cold? I had to think about it.. And then I realized my hands were not really feeling cold anymore- or at least they were not hurting. Sure, my nails were still purple and the actual temperature of them had not changed, but my mind had changed. Unconsciously, the desire for a fish, eradicated the painful focus I had on my hands moments before. It was not even about my hands being cold: it was about the judgement that my hands being cold was a painful, bad feeling.
I understand now my dad was trying to make me consciously aware that even when one thinks they do not have control, that they do. You have control over how you feel about everything. No one has power over the weather, or any external forces for that matter, but one does have the power to control their internal judgements of thoughts.


My hands were cold, but I could chose to focus on cold hands or not, and even beyond the physicality of my freezing palms, I could choose whether this was a positive or negative feeling.
Conscious, non-judgemental observance and acceptance of thought is the first step to mind control.


Now I know this. And now cold hands or warm hands, we can catch that fish. Dad, you brilliant sconnie lunatic- grab your pole! 

    

 

HallieLou

Eating, Educating, and Exploring my way through this world!

Posted on January 3rd, 2020

THE PACK: 7.9 Life Lessons Learned from 79 hours of Earthquakes – EEEtheWorld

Anyone who has experienced an earthquake understands the terror shaking the earth is as frightening as the terror shaking one’s soul. This natural disaster is a recipe to change people, yet three survivors have rallied together to ensure this dreadful experience changes them, and the Nepalese people they interact with, for the better. This inspiration comes from the Sapkota family where Samed, Lauren and Hallie (LouLou) met as airbnbers at Dil’s Homestays.

We invite you to support Dil’s Family Here: NEPAL HOSPITALITY- Rebuilding Dil’s Leveled Village Jyamrunz

The outpouring of hospitality Dil Sapkota, his family, and all the Nepalese people have shared with us is beyond words. At the instance of the first 7.9 quake, Lauren and Hallie were just settling down for a nap at Dil’s house after a 24 hour journey from Rishikesh, India to Katmandu, Nepal. Samed, was cliff side en route to a mountain village located near Gorkha, the epicenter, when the tremors began. While Diwas, Dil’s son, bravely escorted Lauren and me out of the house to safety in a nearby field, Samed garnered the courage to make a ten hour trek with strangers back to Dil’s house. The three of us united after dark underneath the makeshift shelter where 100 neighbors piled on top of each other for the long night ahead. From that moment on, we endured 79 more hours of aftershocks, two of which registered 6.7 and 5.2 on the Richter scale. From our experience surviving this devastating quake and interacting with the resilient Nepali people, these are our 7.9 ‘quake-aways’ for the better:

 

  1. Keep Smiling, it’s contagious: 

Some people panic in life threatening situations- which is understandable. But we quickly learned if we remained calm, took deep breaths, and smiled through the tremors, people around us would calm too.

  1. Hospitality is hope:

Dil’s family could not have gone father out of their way to make sure Lauren, Samed and I were comfortable. Only 5 hours after the first quake hit, under the makeshift tent shelter, Madhu, Dil’s wife, and our Nepalese mother equivalent, served us dinner as if we were seated at the living room table. This hospitable attitude and sacrifice in the kitchen to provide us an outrageously delicious meal leaves us speechless. Her willpower to bring us beyond the earthquake and to experience Nepalese food, despite the conditions, inspired us. This ability to carry on life as usual, and even smile, and share dinner embodies willpower in the highest form.

  1. A meal is a big deal:

Never in our lives had we worried where the next meal was coming from, and thanks to Dil’s family, we did not have to worry this time either. However, post-quake two million homeless Kathmandu families now had to search for food that would not be prepared in their home kitchens. The Nepali government took over three days to start serving food and providing aid. Walking through the city, we understood what hunger felt like and vowed to be grateful for the food in front of us. Even a week later, villages which have been leveled, such as Jyamrunz where Dil grew up, have yet to receive food and water.

  1. Can’t tell if you smell:

With electricity out for days, no water pump, and only 500 gallons of water, we adapted to not showering. We joked about the plethora of products stored in our home showers. We thanked dill profusely for the water bucket he set aside for each of us. We doused ourselves in deodorant and perfume, and we enjoyed being with each other, pheromones flowing, because that’s all that really matters. Dil’s daughter Manisha turned 17 three days post-quake. For her birthday, Dil boiled water, so she could take a warm bath and feel clean: A gift which humbled us all.

  1. Spooning with your village isn’t awkward:

We are all humans. We all need food, water, and sleep to survive. The beauty which comes from disaster is that this human element awakens when you are all relying on each other in survival mode, and this was especially apparent that first night, when sleep fell upon us all. All the neighbors came together…literally. Under a makeshift tarp and bamboo tent, we "slept"100 bodies twisted and spooned across a 250 sq. ft. area. If you need to be warm do this: Grab a partner, sit on your knees in thunderbolt pose… Have your partner sit facing you, but directly to your side then both collapse to your inside, resting your heads on each other’s knees and hips. Your internal organs are protected and heat radiates between you despite the chili outside air. Everyone spooning you on other sides helps too. If you are warm, your mind is left to the hierarchy of other thoughts. And something special happens when an entire village is touching. We will never again take space for granted, and remember this night warm and safe with each other.

  1. Possessions mean nothing and everything:

As backpackers, Lauren, Samed and I already had an understanding of minimalism; Survivalism was new to us however. When it was safe to head back into the house, we efficiently packed survival packs to grab in case another quake hit and all of our "stuff" would be gone. How many times had we sat in a bar and asked friends, so if you were stranded on an island…what would you bring? Acting this out in real life is a sinking feeling. In my small backpack I fit mixed nuts, biscuits, and shaved coconut (all the food on me), a liter of water (all the water on me), a sweater, 2 shawls, wool socks, (hot during day, cold at night) deodorant, toothbrush, toothpaste, and perfume (seriously, I have the coco mademoiselle travel container and every ounce of my being loves smelling nice) my journals, a pen, my iPhone, the money I had left, and my passport. You learn to make do with little that you have. We all have a new found joy of possessions. Possessions can be meaningful to you, especially in an instance of survival. Whether you have a lot or have a little, appreciating what you have makes all the difference.

  1. Place your own oxygen mask before others:

All we could think of post-quake was how can we help? We wanted to help make dinner, we wanted to help rebuild the brick wall that had fallen, we wanted to comfort the crying babies, and we wanted to help in the mountains where entire villages collapsed. Part of this helplessness feeling stemmed from having zero information. All power and communications were down. Anything to help would take our minds off of this scary situation. We were still guests in everyone’s minds and despite the earth shattering event that had just ravaged their country; these Nepalese people were trying to please us. The next day, 12 hours post-quake, we walked into the city. We passed UNICEF, and as grateful as they were to have willing American volunteers show up, they turned us away due to liability and training issues. At the US embassy they let us know USAID and the American Red Cross would probably be coming in a couple days, but for now, just return to your safe place. Helplessness settled in. So we passed a hospital. We felt somewhat glorified purchasing glucose and water from a local pharmacy and just making rounds serving "glucose pané"in the front lawns where injured families waited with their loved ones. As we served them this energy concoction, we felt somewhat relieved as we were contributing to society in some positive way.  I know it’s tough for people to understand, but we did everything we could to help on foot, and sometimes just succumbing to helplessness in a time like this and letting the powers that be take over, is all you can do. We needed time to process our own emotions of surviving the longest recorded earthquake in history too.

.9 Live.love.Laugh life goes on:

Children are wildly resilient. We can learn from the kid that starts kicking the ball back and forth minutes post-quake or the group of younger ones focused on chess. Dwelling on what happened, or even worse, what could happen (and did), couldn’t change anything.  We did our best to help in town at the hospital, but it was through moving forward with life that we realized we were helping most. When we arrived in Pokhara, the usually bustling tourist heaven was turned ghost town overnight. Countless Nepalese people thanked us for being there and contributing to society. Our big dinners and paragliding experiences were not only helping us process the tragedy, but continuing to fuel the economy in a town that needed it more than ever. When we arrived in Pokhara our jeep driver said, yes, I have lost my house, but it will be rebuilt, and we must move on. Extraordinary!

~

YOU CAN DONATE TO DILS FAMILY VIA OUR FUNDRAISING WEBSITE HERE!

 

    

 

Posted on January 3rd, 2020

My Earthquake Experience: A new sense of GROUNDED – EEEtheWorld

This natural disaster is a recipe to change you, especially when you are a world traveler at the end of your journey who has escaped for one last spontaneous adventure to Nepal.

Flight over Kathmandu 3 Hours before Earthquake

My flight landed 3 hours and 6 minutes before the 7.9 rocked not only my world, but our planet from Katmandu to Dehli.

Lauren, a travel companion met in India the month before, and I had booked an airbnb room for one night.

Lauren and I Landed- Excited to trek across Nepal

We were drawn to Dil’s Home Stays, located in Kathmandu, because of the rooftop view and positive reviews of Dil’s hospitality on AirBnB.

More than Just a Room in Kathmandu- AirBnB confirmation

From the instant Dil picked us up at the airport we sensed his outrageously genuine character.

Dil- The most Hospitable Man on the Planet

This hospitable attitude radiated through his home as his two polite and smiling teenagers Manisha ( Daughter 17)and Diwas (Son 14)

Manisha Lauren and I

Diwas Lauren and I

greeted us with fresh garden grow lemongrass tea. As we sipped this sweet concoction, thinking life was too good to be true, thoughts raced of the adventure ahead. However, Dil was quite insistent on resting at the house since we had endured a long journey from Rishikesh India and we hadn’t slept in 24 hours.

We and had just settled into our lovely bedroom when the quake hit.

Bedroom at Dil’s

Both on our beds ready for a noon nap, we felt a tremor. Then the tremor did not stop, and adrenaline kicked in, and we both stared at each other and questioned- is this an earthquake? We were like scared puppies on all fours, legs out, arms spread, eyes wide, unsure of the world. What do two tourists who have never experienced an earthquake before do in a situation like this? Let alone in a foreign country? Instinctually, we clamoured to the doorframe and reminded ourselves to breathe. Like true millenials we googled, "what to do in an earthquake", but the Internet was already wiped out. We moved into the living room. The tremors were so strong we could not walk without falling over yet somehow, amoungst the clanking walls, Lauren managed to smoothly move the heavy box TV from the glass table onto the floor as I awkwardly juggled a plastic vase.  (The significance of my contribution in saving important household items vs Lauren’s is laughable in retrospect!) We were thinking of Dil and his family and saving his home in these brief moments.

As we knelt with fright, holding hands, time seemed to stop, yet we realized how dangerous our situation was and that we needed to get outside quickly. We pushed thoughts of the house caving in on us away. Suddenly, our guesthouse owner’s 14 year old son Diwas rushed up the stairs. Our knight in shining armor, he gave us direction when we most needed it. His concern was helping his grandfather, Lauren and me down the 2 flights of stairs. This Nepali brother is so incredibly brave.
Chaos ensued outside in a whirlwind of mothers screaming, babies crying, and the entire community rushing towards the terraced dirt field. It seemed like minutes had passed and the earth was still reverberating violently. Once you are in a supposedly safe place where buildings will not topple and crush your body, your imagination starts to race. At least mine did. As the trembles forced me to the earth, my mother flooded my mind. She is all I could think of. What would she do if I died? I didn’t want her to worry about me. I wanted my mother, and father, and sister and brother, and everyone to know that I had lived a wonderful life and that I loved them. Then self preservation mode kicks back in… What if the quake gets worse? What if the earth cracks open at my feet? You construct survival scenarios in your mind and life moves in slow motion: if the blue building falls, I’ll go there; If that house topples over, I’ll grab the terrified little girl whose mother has hands full with two screaming toddlers. This first earthquake was a maze of memories flashing before my eyes and being frozen in the trembling world.
Suddenly, the senselessly shaking earth came to a hault. We had made it. At least for now. We had little idea what had just happened and didn’t for hours in that field. Two blond white girls (they considered me blonde, I know  in a sea of strangers who instantaneously welcomed us and told us we were beautiful. Looking back, we probably were a cheerful distraction to what was happening. But we didn’t know what was happening. No information. No communicaiton. No electricity. No idea when the next tremor would come. And they did come. According to the USAID site, more than 20 aftershocks—ranging between magnitude 4.5 and 6.6—followed the initial earthquake that afternoon alone.  Unpredictably, every couple of minutes the ground rumbled and fear darted deep into us, every time like a knife re-piercing our hearts. You could hear it in the screams of little kids as their resilient laughter vanished into a run for their mother’s arms. This conundrum between panic and remaining calm is an exercise in self realization unlike anything I have ever known.
Through all this terror, Dil’s family was our strength.

Dil, Diwas, Grandpa, Manisha, Madhu and I finding hope post quake

Kathmandu View

Words cannot explain how grateful I am to be part of this Nepali family and for the protection they provided. They put us- Samed, Lauren and I (the pack), three American guests they had met moments earlier- first in every sense of the word. The entire neighborhood, nearly 100 Nepali people, and the 3 Guests, spooned on top of each other outside that first night, keeping each other warm, keeping each other safe. "Guests are gods in our culture" they proclaimed. 

The tents we "spooned" in

For the next week, Dil, Madhu, Diwas, Manisha, Grandpa and the entire neighborhood ensured we were comfortable; feeding us plentiful meals, serving us hot tea, setting aside water for us to wash, and sacrificing their own resources even when devastating news from their home villages was trickling in.

Dill serving us breakfast on his rooftop 2 days post initial earthquake

Conversing with Dil

Dil’s immediate family, his mother and brother, still live in his hometown of Jyamrunz, a village near Gorkha, the epicenter of the quake where images of extreme damage and casualty continue to flood the world news.  After four days of continual tremors and no communication from his village, a call finally came through. All 7 of us were sitting around their dining room table eating by candlelight (the power was still out), celebrating Manisha’s 17th birthday, when Dill’s phone rang. Luckily, his family and friends were unharmed but their was a quiver in his voice exclaiming that the house he had grown up in, where his mother still resides, and collapsed. He shared that no aid has been able to reach the village due to landslides and rain blocking the pathto where he grew up.

Pray for Nepal

My heart sunk imagining his beloved mother standing in the rain, upon the rubble where she raised Dil’s 9 brothers and sisters. The images on the news now have such a piercing personal connection for me. Over dinner that evening, Dil shared stories of his entire family uniting in that house. There were over 50 grandchildren now. So many cousins and brothers and kids and granddaughters that everyone would have to eat dinner in shifts. He didn’t know how and where everyone managed to sleep in that house the nights they were all together. He smiled as he spoke of these jovial reunions. Then, solemnly he sighed: Thinking out loud he mentioned he might never see some of them again since the house was gone. We all fell silent.

Neighborhood Tents

Collapsing Buildings

We watched this hospital collapse during the second big aftershock of 6.7 magnitude

What Kathmandu Looks Like

The most impactful way we can thank Dil and the Sapkota family for their graciousness is to give back. Thus, Lauren, Samed, and I (The Pack) have organized a fund to aid Dil’s family and home village, Jyamrunz.  Therefore, in honor of your friendship with me, please do what you can to spread awareness to as many people as possible by spreading the love we received from our Nepali friends and by helping raise funds for the millions of thirsty, hungry and shelterless families throughout Nepal.
Dil’s family resided in Jyamrunz, near Gorkha, the epicenter of the earthquake, and our Pack is happy to say that we will be transferring funds to Dil’s account (in small amounts to avoid any Nepali government intervention aka taxing and bribing). This money will be used to buy clothing, food and supplies for the devastated families and hospitals in the region. I’m hereby assuring that not a single dollar will go to any other cause, you can hold me fully accountable!

The Pack: Lauren, Samed, and I

If you can help, literally every dollar, dirham, pound, rial or rupee will help. The average Nepali makes around 120 – 150 dollars A MONTH. So your $20 is about 17% of the total monthly income of a working and fortunate Nepali. The nights are cold, people have already began protesting against their government because of slow aid to help, and families are hungry. It would mean a lot to me, The Pack, Dil’s family, and the nearly 30 million Nepali people if you contributed.

May God, Allah, Buddha, Krishna or whatever you believe in bless you and keep your families safe, healthy, and well.
Surviving a natural disaster like this instantly prioritizes what is most important in life- hospitality, gratitude, resilience, and uniting the greatness inside us all.
Thanks for sharing my personal experience.
This is only one story of the millions affected. You can read my fellow travelers stories here:
Samed: If you’re not moving, you’re slowly dying
Lauren Tyner: My Story
Stay posted for Earthquake Footage YouTube video uploads on the EEETHEWORLD YouTube channel

    

 

Posted on January 3rd, 2020

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